


Along a Desert Highway

by triedunture



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, First Time, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: The events of Thor (2011) take a different turn when both Thor and Loki are sent to Midgard without their powers as punishment for their misdeeds. With nothing except each other, they go on a journey to reclaim Mjolnir together.





	Along a Desert Highway

"You are a vain, greedy, cruel boy!" Odin bellows.

"And you are an old man and a fool!" Thor returns in kind.

The air goes out of the Bifrost chamber. Thor's blood runs cold. He cannot return the words to his throat now.

"Yes," Odin says after a long moment of quiet. His face goes hard and lined. "I was a fool. In so many ways. My son has proven to be unworthy." His gaze drifts to Loki, standing as still as a statue by the curving wall of the Bifrost. Then, his single eye returning to Thor, he says, "I have no choice but to take from you your power, and to cast you out."

Thor's useless tongue works in his dry mouth. What defense can he offer for his misstep? He stands in motionless horror as his Father rips his medallions from his armor plate, removes the hammer Mjolnir from his slack grip. Stripped. Dishonored. He will fade into obscurity without his rank. He swallows thickly.

He might as well be sentenced to death.

From his spot in the shadows, Loki makes a low sound. Thor sees him step forward. The strangest look is painted on his brother's face. Even Thor, who knows him completely, cannot place it. Can it be regret?

"Father—" Loki begins.

"And you!" Odin whirls on Loki now, his ire aflame once more. "Put that silver tongue back in your mouth! Do you think me so far gone that I cannot see your hand in all this? You are the one who hid the interlopers from Heimdall's sight; you brought them into our home! No one else has your skill and your love of mischief." He advances on Loki and grabs him by the wrist and, all at once, Thor sees the skin of Loki's arm go from pale white to a deep, frost-limed blue.

Thor does not understand. Does their Father mean to freeze Loki where he stands for his supposed crimes? Did Loki really play such a cruel trick on him?

"Stop!" Thor cries. "Don't!"

Loki stares up at their Father. There are tears standing in his eyes. "It's not him," he says. "It's me." The tears fall, one right after the other. "What is this? What am I?"

"You are my child," Odin says, sounding very tired, "brought here from the icy plains of your birthplace, where Laufey left you to die."

Thor's mind works, but he cannot make sense of this. Loki, a Frost Giant? His own brother? It is too much following so closely his own terrible sentence. It is like a nightmare with no awakening.

Odin seems frustrated by the silence that greets his pronouncement. He shakes Loki by the arm. "I rescued you, Loki. You were just a defenseless babe."

Loki weeps in earnest now, his face a mask of anger. He teeth are bared against the words he forms. "Am I supposed to thank you? My whole life— It's all been a lie."

Odin inclines his head. "No, you fixed your own destiny with your own lies. Your treachery, like your brother's ruthlessness, cannot be allowed to stand." His hand moves from Loki's wrist to his heart.

"No, no, please—" Loki tries to break free, but Odin claps his other hand to his shoulder and forces him to remain still.

"I take from you your power," he murmurs. He draws a shining light of gold and green from Loki's chest. Thor watches in amazement as the magical essence is caged in his Father's fingers.

"I take from you everything that makes you Gods," Odin whispers. "And I cast you out. The both of you."

Thor roars, ready to fight to the last, but the Bifrost's bright light of many colors envelops him before he can move. The last thing he sees before all goes dark are Loki's eyes fixed on his, wide with terror.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Thor wakes up and spits out a mouthful of sand.

He stares down at the dirt beneath him, then lifts his head. It is night but he can make out shapes by the light of the moon. He is surrounded by the blackened sigil of the Bifrost. The scent of burnt earth sears his nostrils. There are no trees, no buildings, nothing but a desert dotted with scrub brush and the occasional stone outcropping. Far away, an eagle calls.

Thor rolls over onto his back, wincing as the sand sticks to his bare skin. Not a stitch of clothing covers him.

His hand reaches out for the familiar pull of Mjolnir but for the first time since he has wielded his weapon, the hammer does not come. Thor grunts in frustration—and pain; his body feels its bruises like never before—and tries again. Nothing happens. His hand falls. He has not a thing to his name. He has entered this strange world with nothing.

Well. Nearly nothing.

"Loki?" he croaks. He spies a shape in the desert sand a few yards off, a shadow curled onto the ground. He gains his feet and goes to it. Loki lays on his side, naked as Thor, his eyes still closed.

Thor gives him a hard kick in the ribs. That gets him awake. Those treacherous eyes, still red from his tears, fly open with a gasp, then fasten on Thor as if to ask why the rude awakening.

"This is all your fault!" Thor screams at him.

Loki sits up, holding his hand to his no-doubt aching side. "And how do you figure that?" he snarls. "Was I the one who insisted on a raid into Jotunheim?"

"I only did so because of your machinations! You wanted me to disobey Father; you knew I would be punished!"

"How could I have known what Father would do?" Loki is on his feet now, toe to toe with Thor. "Clearly Odin's thoughts have long been a mystery to me!"

"Then why go through all this trouble? Why invite our enemy into the palace? Just to interrupt my coronation?"

"Yes!" Loki cries out, flinging his arms wide. "To interrupt your ridiculous coronation!" His eyes are glittering, his teeth a flash of white as he bares them. "I was doing Asgard a favor, Thor. Your empty head isn't fit for a crown!"

Thor lets loose a roar as he barrels into Loki, wrestling him to the sandy ground. He beats at him with bare fists, but he is sapped of his strength—as is Loki, it seems—so the fight is not the epic battle that Thor desires. It's merely a sad, weak showing, just two foolish children grappling clumsily in the dirt until they soon tire themselves out.

Thor rolls off his brother to lay on his back in the sand, humiliated, panting for breath that will not return as swiftly as it should. He cannot wrap his head around this situation, nor the quickness with which it came. In the span of minutes, he's lost his hammer, his strength, his home, his throne—

His brother.

His brother who is not his brother.

Thor presses his sand-coated fists to his eyes and howls. Somewhere in a nearby patch of brush, a family of birds takes flight, their wings rustling as they scatter.

Loki's slack hand hits Thor on the arm in a glancing blow. "Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself," he grouses between gasping breaths. "You're not the one who just found out you were stolen from your people as an infant."

"What does that matter?" Thor asks, wiping at his wet face. "Mother and Father loved you as they loved me."

"Did they?" Loki stares up at the many stars in the night sky, and Thor follows his gaze. Somewhere out there in the vast reaches of blackness is the home from which they were banished. "And look where that's gotten us," Loki murmurs.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Because they cannot lie there in the desert sands forever, Thor and Loki eventually rise to their feet and take stock of their circumstances. Thor squints into the darkness, but there does not appear to be anything of note as far as he can see.

"Where are we?" he asks. "I do not recognize this world."

"Nor I," Loki says. "It seems Father has sent us to a barren wasteland." He glances over to Thor with an odd look in his eye. "We two could be the only people on this planet for all we know."

Thor snorts. "That would be too barbaric. Even for Father."

Loki lets out a breath. "I see." And he turns away to begin walking in some direction that seems chosen at random.

Thor stays standing where he is. "Where are you going?" he calls out.

"Away from you," Loki says without turning back.

With a roll of his eyes, Thor follows, overtaking Loki with ease. "What are you talking about? We need to stick together."

"Why?" Loki snaps.

"Because—" Thor struggles for a reason. They are not family, not any longer. They are not friends, even. They are certainly not allies. Loki thinks him dull and horrible and unworthy of the throne, just as their Father does. Why should they stay side by side—save for the fact that it has always been that way?

"It's down to survival now, Loki," he finally says. "We must work together if we want to find a way home."

"Don't you understand?" Loki turns to look at him at last. "There is no way home. You've lost your powers; I've lost my magics. The Bifrost is closed to us. This—" He gestures to the bleak landscape around them. "This is all that there is. There's no point in remaining together." He crosses his arms over his bare chest and strikes a stubborn pose that should not be possible for one so naked. "Besides, you'd be a fool to trust me after what I've done."

"Yes." Thor inclines his head. "We are a family of fools, aren't we?"

"I am not your family!" Loki says. "I never was! I wasn't—" His voice shakes. "The entire time, we weren't—"

Despite his anger, the soft spot Thor has always had for his little brother makes him reach out. He puts his hand on the back of Loki's neck and brings his tear-stained face in closer.

"I'm not even Asgardian," Loki says to the ground.

"We were raised together," Thor says quietly. "We played together. We fought together. Whatever else has happened, that will never change."

The words do not have the desired effect. Instead of appearing comforted, Loki's face crumples. He says nothing, but looks away into the desert's shadows instead of meeting Thor's gaze.

Thor shakes him gently by the scruff of his neck. "Come. Walk with me out of this desert. We can find our way together for now at least, and tomorrow if you decide we should part ways, I will bid you farewell."

Loki fidgets with his hands in a way that means he is thinking. One set of fingers pulling and counting the others, knuckle by knuckle. "I—"

He is interrupted by a bright light that cuts through the darkness, creating a halo over a hill in the distance. Twin circles approach them at a rapid pace, accompanied by a low hum of machinery. They squint into the light.

"What is that?" Thor asks.

"I don't know," Loki breathes, "but I imagine the Bifrost put on quite a show. The people of this world must be coming to investigate." He looks to Thor. "We have to run."

"Run?" Thor tosses his head like a balking horse. "Where is your pride? We will stand our ground and fight if need be."

"Fight? With what?" Loki waves a hand at their shared nakedness. "You said it yourself; this is about survival. For once in your stubborn life, listen to me!"

Thor clenches his jaw and tries to form a retort, but the lights are getting closer. He looks at them, then at Loki, who is wearing such a pleading expression that he can think no longer.

"All right," he says, grabbing Loki's arm. They head for a monolith of rock some yards distant, away from the lights, and hide in its shadow. They crouch there, so close that Thor can feel the pulse in Loki's skin, holding their breath as the lights pass them by and continue onward into the night.

"We should stay here for a moment," Loki says, quiet in the dark next to Thor's ear. "At least until we're sure they're not returning."

They remain where they are. Thor strains his ears for the distant sound that had accompanied the lights, but the rumble fades into nothing. Silence overtakes it, punctuated only by the trilling song of an insect.

He glances over at Loki's profile. His features are so known to Thor that even here in the deep shadow and little starlight, he can recognize the sharp point of Loki's chin, the sweep of his eyelashes, the line of his nose.

He can't believe that this face is a false one.

"If you are truly a Frost Giant," Thor says into the pocket of silence, "why do you look like this?" He reaches out and cups Loki's cheek in one hand. It's a simple gesture, one he's made a thousand times in their youth. _Are you injured? Where did it hit you? Come here. Let me see._

But tonight, Loki twists away from Thor's touch, a snarl on his lips. "How should I know?" he says.

"It cannot be your magics," Thor points out. "They've been taken from you, and yet here you are, looking as Aesir as—" As myself, he nearly says. "As ever."

"It's a mystery to me as well." Loki brings his knees closer to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs. "The only thing that makes even a bit of sense is—" He licks at his dry lips. "Perhaps it's like Allspeak, something I carry at the will of the Allfather." He stops, looks to Thor. His brow is furrowed like he does not understand his own thoughts. "What if Odin made me this way? Turned my skin white and my eyes blue?"

"Father wouldn't—" Thor begins to say, then thinks better of it. He no longer has any idea what Father would or wouldn't do. Yesterday, Odin's punishments would have been unthinkable. Now….

It is a long while before Loki breaks the quiet. His harsh splinter of laughter makes him fold into an even tighter shape there in the dark.

"Why do you laugh?" Thor asks.

Loki shrugs. "Too small to be a Jotun. Not enough of a warrior to be Asgardian." His voice wavers just a touch to let Thor know his mirth is awash with grief. "I can't wait to see how I'll disappoint in this new realm."

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

There is nothing to do in the end but walk. The question of which direction they should choose produces some little argument, but in the end, it doesn't matter. Neither of them possesses any clue as to which way might offer safety. They can't even get their bearings to find North, the stars being such strangers to them here. So they pick a direction purely at random, and they walk.

They walk until the sun hovers over the horizon, showing them more clearly their desolate surroundings. Sand and scrub and stone and sky.

Thor chances a look at Loki. He walks beside Thor in silence, his carriage upright despite his nakedness, looking for all the world like a prince who meant to find himself here and is not concerned with his lot. But Thor can see the sweat collecting on Loki's brow, the trickles of it down his temples and from under his arms. The heat of the day does rise with brutal strength, and even Thor feels the crackle of it on the backs of his shoulders. Loki's own back is turning a dangerous shade of red, burnt and tender.

Their Father had said they would be stripped of all that made them Gods. Thor realizes that this means they are now mortal, susceptible to pain and tiredness—and swiftly moving death.

"We need shelter from the sun," he says. The words sound loud in the endless expanse, though Thor speaks in but a whisper. "We need water."

Loki juts his chin toward the shimmering line of the horizon. "Look ahead. Do you think that might be what passes for civilization around here?"

Thor shades his eyes with his hand and squints into the bright light. It's a building—a modest cottage, perhaps—sitting in the distance, flanked by rows of cypress trees.

"We'll stop there and ask for aid."

"Hm, let's think about that, shall we?" Loki stops in his tracks and taps his fingertip against his cheek. "What would _I_ do if two strangers appeared on my doorstep completely naked begging for help?"

Thor rounds on him. "Then tell me our alternative. We cannot keep walking the length of this desert. It might go on forever!"

"I merely advise caution," Loki says as another drop of sweat tracks down his face until it drips from his chin.

Thor watches it fall. "If you stand here dithering much longer, you will faint from this accursed heat. And I will not carry you." Loki is not the only one who can craft a lie.

Loki opens his cracked lips as if to argue, but the manner in which he sways where he stands belies any words he might conjure. He closes his mouth and gives a weary nod. With what seems to be great effort, he puts one bare foot in front of the other and begins walking again. Thor falls into step beside him.

"If we are very lucky," Loki says, "perhaps the place will be empty, and we can help ourselves to what we need."

Thor's jaw tightens. That the Princes of Asgard could be reduced to filching food and drink like common criminals….

But one look at Loki, flagging in the hot sun, and Thor does not mind so much their imminent trespasses.

As they near the cottage, the shape of it comes into view. It is squat and white with windows that give it the look of a surprised face. Its roof is laid out like dragon's scales. There is a little bit of greenery growing behind the house, and there stands a tree of silver metal which holds bolts of white fabric that flap in the wind. Thor thinks of the washerwoman's domain behind the palace where he and Loki would spend hours as children playing hide-and-seek amid the drying bedclothes.

"Washing," Thor says, and points.

Loki nods. "It's better than being naked."

There is no fence, no gate, nothing to stop them from walking through the close-knit trees and into the small back garden. They listen for footsteps or voices from within the little house and, hearing none, they take a few of the bedsheets from the silver tree and wrap them about their persons.

Thor ties his sheet about his waist while Loki drapes himself in one like a gown. He takes a long time fussing with the folds of it, so Thor leaves him to his task to look around the little garden. He sees a patch of damp earth and, lying next to it, a coil of rubbery rope. The rope is attached to a valve at the side of the house, and Thor realizes its purpose after only a moment.

"Look," he says. "Water."

They turn the valve and, sure enough, the coil fills like a snake fattened with its kill. The hose sputters before pouring out cool, clean water into their waiting palms. Loki laughs in triumph and drinks deeply from his cupped hands. Thor holds the clever device aloft to make it easier for him.

They take turns drinking. The water tastes of iron and a bit of sulfur, but Thor thinks it the sweetest he's ever had. He can't get enough, it seems, and so he holds the hose high and lets the water pour over his head, soaking his long hair and cooling his overheated skin.

He closes his eyes in the spray. When he opens them, he finds Loki staring at him.

"What?" he asks. Water flecks from his lip.

Loki looks away, rearranging the bedsheet about his shoulders. "Nothing. You look like a wet dog, is all."

Grinning, Thor shakes his head like a dog might, flinging droplets in Loki's direction. Loki yelps and puts up his hands to defend himself from the onslaught.

"Stop this," he cries. "We don't have time for your childish antics."

"Don't we?" Thor laughs and directs the spray of water at Loki, who does not dance out of the way quickly enough. The water drenches his black hair and white sheet amid Loki's shouts. The look of murderous rage on that pale face brings another peal of laughter from deep in Thor's belly.

Why shouldn't he laugh? Their lives are quite ridiculous. His little brother is a Frost Giant. His Father has disowned them both. He may never see his Mother again. But they are here, and the water is cold, and they are alive still. In Thor's mind, that is cause enough for celebration.

"How dare you!" Loki grabs the hose from Thor's hand and directs the blast of water right into his ear. Thor laughs all the harder and grapples for control over the thing, though Loki does not seem inclined to give it up. "This isn't funny. Stop bellowing like some foolish cow!"

Their feet slide in the mud. Thor cannot see for all the water in his eyes. Though Loki is as angry as a wet cat, it is an anger reminiscent of their boyhood, when they would fight as children do over some shiny plaything or imagined slight. A rage of no real substance. To Thor, it is like meeting an old friend after a long absence.

He finally succeeds in wresting the hose from Loki, but that causes Loki to slip on the wet earth and tumble into him. Thor only just keeps them both upright, clutching Loki to his soaked chest, the water spilling over their bare feet.

Loki looks at him in a way Thor does not understand. His brother's eyes are wide with fear. Their struggles had been playful; why should Loki be so afraid?

"Are you—?" Thor says, but is interrupted by the back door of the house swinging open with a bang.

They turn as one, Thor still holding Loki close, the hose dangling to fill the mud puddle at their feet. A child stands in the doorway. She holds some device tight in her little hand. Her eyes blink owlishly behind her round spectacles, and her hair curls in a billowing cloud.

"All right, meth heads," she says. "If you're not out of my yard in ten seconds, I'm calling the cops."

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Thor has faced many a foe in his time. There have been monsters made of solid rock. Automatons forged from merciless steel. Beasts of fur and fang.

It seems awfully unfair that the opponent who makes him stumble now is a tiny, bespectacled child.

Loki peels himself away from Thor. "What did she call us?"

Thor hikes his makeshift skirts higher on his hips. He doesn't understand half the words the child has said, but that does not deter him. He smiles wide. That usually works, in his experience.

"Little girl—" he begins to say.

"Stay back, creep!" She shakes the little rectangle at him. Perhaps it is a weapon.

Thor puts his hands up to show he is unarmed but for the hose, which still waters the ground. "I will stay. But please tell me: where are we?"

"How high are you?" she demands. "We're in New Mexico."

"Is that what you call this world?" Thor gestures to the vastness of the desert and whatever lies beyond it.

"Thor," Loki hisses, "now is not the time."

"This is the first being we've met on this planet. Now is the perfect time," Thor retorts.

The child lowers her rectangle, a strange look creasing her tiny brow. "Hey, is this a joke or something?" she says. "Because if my brothers put you up to this, it's not funny."

"We do not jest." Thor slowly reaches over and closes the valve so that the rush of water ceases. He drips lightly from his hair and sheet. "I ask you with a sincere heart. We were sent through the Bifrost from a land called Asgard, though we know not where we've arrived. Can you tell us where we are in relation to, say, Vanaheim?"

The girl stares at them for a moment, her breathing loud in the little garden. "Jesus," she says. "The lights in the sky. That was you." Her face splits into a huge grin. She pumps her arm in the air. "I knew aliens were real!"

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

The child ushers them into the modest cottage after directing them to wipe their muddied feet on a mat. Thor walks into the house, noting all the strange things on the walls and tabletops. The place is unfamiliar in its design, and yet Thor has in his travels been a guest in many foreign abodes, and he is no yokel.

"A beautiful home," he tells the girl, since it seems the proper thing to say.

She screws up her face. "Not when you're sharing it with three brothers. Luckily they're all at work today, same as mom. Summer vacation for me. I'm Maria, by the way. Do you have names?"

Thor prepares to introduce himself in the traditional manner, with the long list of his titles and accomplishments, his Godhood and that of his brother's. But then he realizes they are no longer any of those things, and so he says only that his name is Thor and Loki's is Loki, and that is that. Maria seems to accept this with not a whit of recognition. Perhaps she is too young to have heard stories of their exploits.

"And you promise you won't kidnap me or dissect me?" she asks.

Loki looks askance at the notion. "Dissect you? Who would do such a thing?"

Those owlish eyes blink twice. "Serial killers, probably." She returns her attention to Thor. "But I get the feeling you guys aren't the type. I mean, you're not even wearing gloves. Prints everywhere. So you're either crazy or…." She smiles wide. "Aliens."

Thor shakes his head, parsing only the smallest bit of her meaning. "I swear on our lives we mean you no harm, sweet child."

"I'm not a child. I'm twelve. In like, a month." Her dark eyes narrow as she peers up at them. "So Asgard, huh? What solar system is that? Is it in our galaxy or are you, like, from Andromeda way? Wait, wait, let me get my notebook."

As Maria scuttles down a hallway, Loki throws Thor a long-suffering look. "Placing our fate in the hands of a mere babe. Excellent work, Thor."

"Well, we need help from someone," Thor points out, "unless you'd rather keep walking aimlessly." He follows the girl down the hall and stands in an open doorway, watching her rifle through a chest of drawers.

"It only counts as a discovery if you write it down!" she calls. "And there's no way I'm gonna share credit with a bunch of jerks in suits and ties."

While she searches, Thor takes in the child's bedchamber. The little room is clearly divided in two, one half the messy domain of, he supposes, one of the aforementioned brothers. The other half is plastered in brightly colored banners announcing such things as missions to Mars and festivals in Roswell and a piece of machinery called Galileo. Drawings of strange constellations dot the walls as well, each labeled in a neat, bubbly hand. Thor does not recognize any of the names, but studies them closely, looking for a clue as to their meaning.

Loki shoulders past him to stand in front of one particular picture. He stares at the blue orb hanging in a star-studded black sky and curses softly. "The Norns have really buggered us this time," he murmurs.

Thor moves to stand beside him. He examines the picture and finds it very strange and very beautiful. "What does it signify?"

"If it's what I think it is?" Loki turns to him, his brows winged high. "It means we're on Midgard."

Maria's head pops up from behind a stack of books. "I think you mean Earth. That's what this planet is called."

"It's what you call it," Loki says quietly, "but the rest of the Nine Realms know it as Midgard." He groans in frustration, his nimble fingers raking through his damp hair. "Of all the places Father could have abandoned us, he chooses the most primitive, inhospitable, horrid little sphere in the universe!"

"Hey," Maria says rather mildly. "I mean, you're not wrong, but hey."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Thor says, more to Loki than the girl.

"It's worse than bad," Loki returns. "There's no getting off this planet. I don't think their ships can go past their sun, let alone back to Asgard! We're trapped."

"Yeah, if you're talking manned space travel, that's definitely true," Maria says. "Looks like you're stuck here, at least until we invent warp drive. Do you have warp drive on Asgard?"

Thor frowns. "I don't think so?"

"Oh." Maria doesn't bother hiding her disappointment. She adjusts her spectacles. "Fat lot of good these aliens are doing me," she mutters to herself. Then, louder, to Thor, "So what's the deal with the sledgehammer that came down with you? Is it some kind of homing device?"

The only word Thor clings to is hammer. "You know of Mjolnir?"

"I know what I saw on TV," Maria returns.

"Show me this TV."

Maria leads the way out of the bedchamber, muttering, "No warp drive, no TV. Why even bother with aliens if they don't have anything cool?"

Loki arches an eyebrow at Thor as they follow the girl. "See?" he says. "Already we disappoint."

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

The TV proves to be nothing more than a visual broadcast receiver. Not as well-made as those Thor has seen in other lands, of course, but he is not about to tell Maria that. She seems almost proud of her picture screen, showing Thor how it turns on with a flourish.

"It's been all over the news this morning," she says, and tunes the TV until a picture of Mjolnir, embedded in red rock, flickers into view.

Thor gasps at the sight. He'd thought perhaps Father had destroyed the hammer, or sent him far away, but here he is. Close enough to see. There must be a reason.

"Locals and experts have competing theories about the strange item's sudden appearance last night," says a woman on the TV, "but one thing is certain: the object and its markings are, for now, unidentified."

The picture changes, showing a closer view of Mjolnir. There are runes etched into his side, runes that had not been there before. Thor tips his head to the side to read them. Loki does the same.

"Live from outside of Swansea, Arizona, for News Channel 12, I'm—"

"'Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy…'" Thor reads.

"'Shall possess the power of Thor?'" Loki finishes, then frowns.

Maria writes this all down in her notebook, which has a pink cat emblazoned on the cover.

Thor slaps his thigh with a happy shout. "A simple enough task! We need only find Mjolnir and reclaim him, then—"

"Him?" Maria asks.

"Of course, him." The child is too young to be told what Mjolnir represents, so Thor clears his throat and continues. "Once I reclaim him, I will regain my power. Then I will surely be able to get us back home. It cannot fail. Come, brother." He claps Loki on the shoulder. "We head for Arizona." Wherever that may be.

"Okay, hold on, wait." Maria stops writing for a moment. "How exactly are you getting there? You've got no car, no money, no _clothes_ —" She points with her pen to the water-logged bedsheets they wear. "No food, no water, no cell phone, no map, and no idea how to deal with Earthlings, apparently."

Loki shakes off Thor's hand. "All things I was about to mention," he says. As if he understood all the words she spake!

"Such niggling details cannot stay our hand," Thor says.

Maria rolls her eyes expansively. "You're going to get yourself caught. Or maybe dissected."

"What is this mortal penchant for dissecting everyone?" Loki says in disgust.

"I don't know! It's what we do with stuff we don't understand," Maria says. Then, turning to Thor, "You need help. Like, a lot of it. Luckily?" She strikes a pose, one hand on her hip, the other in her bushy hair. "You've got me."

"You would assist me in my quest?" Thor asks.

"Heck yeah. I love quests." She points a finger at him. "You just have to promise me that if you do find a way back to your planet that you'll take me there. Just for a visit. Deal?"

Thor does not hesitate. It is a small price to pay for the little mortal's allegiance. And anyway, he's sure that once he's back in his Father's good graces, arranging such a thing will be as easy as snapping his fingers.

"We have an agreement," he says, and shakes Maria's hand with a proper amount of solemnity.

"Great." She eyes them both. "First things first: what size do you wear? Maybe—and this is a huge maybe—you'll fit into something of Gabriel's."   

 

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Loki insists on being the first to wash and dress. Thor allows it, knowing how finicky his brother can be about his appearance. And so Loki disappears into the bathing room with his bundle of borrowed clothing and a tube of botanical ointment that Maria instructs him to apply to his sunburnt shoulders.

Being alone with the little girl does not bother Thor so much. Children, on the whole, have always loved him. But this one is not interested in hearing silly jokes or stories of battle. She has questions, and she peppers Thor with them, her pen poised above her notebook.

"So how do you know English?" she asks. "Does everyone speak English on Asgard?"

Thor seats himself on a strange cushion-chair stuffed with little pellets, arranging his bedsheets about his ankles. "Not quite. Asgardians are blessed with Allspeak, an enchantment which allows us to understand most languages in speech and in writing. My Father's power makes this possible; I suppose it is the one thing he did not strip from us when he banished Loki and I."

"Like a universal translator." Maria nods. "Does that mean your people travel to lots of different planets? Is that why you need to speak all those languages?"

"Yes, our kingdom stretches across many worlds, and so we must communicate with many different races. There are those whose languages are not so easily understood through Allspeak, however, and for those I have tried to study as much as I could." Thor sits up straight and proud, though the squishy bag of a chair thwarts much of his efforts. "I will take the throne one day soon, you see, and for diplomacy's sake I will need these skills."

The girl eyes him closely, then says in Spanish, "What about Spanish? Can you speak Spanish?"

"That depends. Are we speaking Spanish right now?" Thor asks, also in Spanish.

Maria laughs. "That is so cool. So when you take over running the country from your dad, will you be able to give people the Allspeak thing?"

Thor frowns and thinks on this. "I...am not sure. It is not something I had considered before."

"Seems important. You might want to figure that out, since your economy depends on it and all." Maria jots something down in her notebook with the pink cat.

Why had his Father never explained to him how that would be dealt with? The problem troubles Thor to the point of irritation, but then Loki calls out from down the hall that he's finished dressing and it's now Thor's turn to clean himself up.  

 

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Thor steps out of the little bathroom, toweling his damp hair. He looks down at the clothes he's now wearing: the white shirt stretched tight across his chest and the trousers—blue jeans, Maria had named them. They're not uncomfortable but they, too, are a bit tight. He tugs at the waistband, admiring the way they sit low on his hips.

His Father's voice rings through his head. Perhaps he is vain. But is that such a dire sin? There must be worse ones. His body might be mortal now, but it is at least still a fine one. Why should he not delight in it?

Thor tosses the damp towel to the floor with a heavy sigh. (Someone will be along to pick it up later, surely.) He pads on bare feet down the hall back to Maria's room, where soft voices float through the nearly shut door. Thor puts his eye to the crack and sees his brother, already dressed head to toe in black Midgardian clothing, sitting on a bed's edge while the girl presents a little model of what looks to be an automaton to him.

"It's certainly lovely," Loki says. He sounds sincere but Thor, who knows him well, can see the faint flicker of boredom in his eyes. At least he's attempting to be polite; Thor would not like to see their little host insulted. "May I ask, Maria, if these things you so enjoy—" Loki gestures to the banners on the walls, the pictures of stars and planets. "Do all children of this world love them as you do?"

The girl's face falls. "Not really," she says. "I mean…." She puts the model carefully back in an empty spot on a shelf. "Mom keeps telling me I'll grow out of it. Most kids my age are into stuff like sports, or clothes, or horses. At least all the kids at my school are." Her shoulder lifts in a half-hearted shrug. "This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm not super popular."

"Not well-liked?" Loki asks. Maria nods, and he looks away at a banner depicting one of the rudimentary space vessels of Midgard. "Yes, it can be very tiresome when no one else appreciates your talents. I myself became interested in the magical arts when I was young—around your age, I suppose. Where I'm from, physical strength is more prized than mystic, but I did not let that sway me. You mustn't let the apathy of others halt your pursuits."

Thor shifts on his feet. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Loki sounded like he really cared.

"I guess," Maria says. "But it still sucks not having anyone to talk to."

Loki smiles. "Perhaps that will change once people know you've met beings from another planet."

"Ha, yeah. I bet everyone will change their tune once they see me on CNN." Maria laughs and mimics her peers in a low, silly voice. "'I knew her back in kindergarten! We're besties!' And I'll just be like, bye." She waves her hand in a dismissive farewell.

"And how sweet that revenge will taste," Loki says. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "The problem is, I must ask you a favor. I know it's difficult, keeping a secret this big when the telling will give you such glory—but will you wait to tell the world of us? At least until my brother and I are safely away from here?"

Maria regards him with a frown. "You don't want to be dissected, huh?"

"I confess, I prefer all my organs on the inside." Loki's grin is tense. "If you promise me you'll keep your silence for the time being, I swear to you, not only will we bring you to Asgard to see it for yourself, but we will also reward you with riches beyond dreams. Gold coin, precious jewels, it will all be for the asking."

The girl seems to think on this. "What about friends?" she asks in a small voice. "Can you reward me with friends?"

"Oh, child." Loki swallows. Looks down at his newly booted feet. "I can offer you my own friendship, if that would do for now."

She nods. "All right. I promise not to tell Anderson Cooper you're here until it's safe." Her little hand reaches out to pat his knee. "It's what friends are for."

Thor grins at the tableau they make. Who could have imagined Loki being almost sweet to a friendless girl? He opens the door a bit more, clearing his throat as he does so. Maria's gaze whips over to him.

"Okay, so it does fit. Barely." She stands, frowning at Thor's torso, especially where the thin white shirt fails to quite meet the waistband of the jeans. "Geez, what are they feeding you up there on Asgard?"

Thor is not given a chance to answer before the girl pushes past him.

"Ah, come on! Towels on the carpet? My mom will kill me."

"I had nowhere else to put it," he says with a shrug. Then, turning to Loki and ignoring Maria's frustrated growls as she picks up the sodden mess: "Since when do you have such a knack with children?"

"Oh, shut up," Loki says, and brushes by, their shoulders grazing in the narrow doorway.

 

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"And last but not least: granola bars," Maria says as she stuffs the vittles into a brightly colored knapsack, already bulging with supplies. "They're tasty. It's like, grains? All stuck together with honey?"

Thor takes one from the top of the pile and tears the crinkly wrapper open with his teeth. He takes a bite of the dubious-looking treat and chews, pleasantly surprised to find it edible. It's not as familiar as the dried beef and fruits the bag also holds, but it will do.

"A fine addition," he pronounces. He eats the remainder in one huge mouthful, then tosses the wrapper to the kitchen's linoleum floor.

"Okay, you have _got_ to stop doing that." Maria hops from her stool and picks it up. "Trash goes in trash cans, all right? Just like dirty clothes go in hampers and wet towels get hung up. Who raised you, anyway?"

"My good lady Mother," Thor says, bristling at the insult. "A Prince of Asgard need not bother with such menial labor. Commoners are better suited to those tasks."

"Not here, they ain't!" Maria cries. "You've got to pick up after yourself, seriously. If you don't, people will start to ask questions, and we don't want that."

Loki rests his elbows on the edge of the kitchen counter, an air of long-suffering elegance in every line of his leaning body. "Listen to the girl, Thor. And don't use your heritage as an excuse." He turns to Maria. "I assure you, not all Asgardians are as uncouth as my brother. Some of us have actually retained the manners taught to us by our good lady Mother." He shoots Thor a judging look.

A crackle of anger runs through Thor, making his tongue sharp and his next words, biting. "Oh, so you're calling yourself an Asgardian again? Or only when it suits you?"

Loki's face shutters. He pushes away from the counter and stalks out the back door, slamming it as he goes. Maria blows a wisp of hair off her forehead with a deep sigh.

"What's with you two?" she asks. "I get ragging on your brother; believe me, I'm an expert. But whatever the history is here—" She makes a circle in the air about level with Thor's stomach. "Maybe bury that hatchet. You're stranded on an alien planet. It's stressful enough, right?"

Thor frowns and folds up the paper map he'd been studying, slipping it into one of the knapsack's pockets. "Loki and I have much to discuss and no time in which to discuss it. Just before we arrived on your world, we discovered he is not our parents' natural child. He was taken from another land as a little babe and raised beside me." Thor shakes his head. "Such a secret, so long kept. I still cannot believe it's true."

"Okay, so he's adopted? And no one told him?" Maria said. "That's some telenovela shit, excuse my French."

Thor agrees with a nod. Though he doesn't understand every reference, he understands the sentiment.

Maria shifts on her stool. "So what did you do to get kicked off your planet? It must've been a pretty big deal. Did you kill someone?" Her gaze goes to Thor's face as if searching it for signs of murderous intent.

"No, of course not," Thor says. Then, thinking, adds, "At least, not outside the confines of battle."

Maria's eyes go wide.

"Killing an opponent is not a crime," he assures. "I merely bested a few Frost Giants to teach them a lesson! They stole into our palace, you see, and Loki—" Thor points at the door Loki's just stormed out of. "He's the one who allowed it all to happen! So really, if I did kill anyone, it's his fault anyway."

"Uh huh." Maria does not look convinced. Her mouth screws up and crowds over to one side of her face.

Thor props himself on the counter with both hands and sighs. "True, it was rash to take a raiding party into our enemy's land without permission. But someone had to do something. It is not in my nature to sit idly by while innocent people are under threat."

"Yeah," Maria drawls, "you sound like a real hero." Without waiting for a retort, she slides off her seat and pads over to the icebox. She's in the middle of pouring herself a glass of lemon-colored drink when Thor finally finds his tongue.

"Where I come from, I am not mocked like this," he sputters. "I am the future King of Asgard. The people love me!"

"Yeah? Well." Maria drinks deeply, then licks her lips and shrugs. "Welcome to Earth." Thor's face must show how deeply these words wound him, for the girl adds, "Look, I'm not saying you're a bad guy. You just sound a little mixed up right now." She pauses for a moment, thinking. "Maybe your dad sent you here because he thought it might make you get your head on straight. Like, if you and Loki are going to be traveling together for the foreseeable future, you should probably apologize to him. That's a good place to start, don't you think?"

Thor eyes the back door. The child is right. He sighs, lumbering out into the yard in search of his brother.

 

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Thor finds Loki in the shadow of the house, crouched on his heels and leaning back against the wood siding. The spot is only cool relative to the furnace-like heat in the air. It is not a place to linger. Thor does not waste time nor words.

"Of course you are Asgardian," he says in lieu of an apology. "Now stop sulking."

Loki does not move from his spot. "What if I don't wish to call myself Asgardian any longer?" he says, his eyes ahead on the distant line of the horizon.

Thor looks out into the desert as well, but the answers cannot be found there. He goes to Loki's side and lowers himself into a crouch, mirroring his brother's posture. Together they look out over the vast open plain and not at each other.

"If you wished such a thing," Thor says, "I would ask why, and I would hope it was not some kind of self-imposed exile designed to hurt rather than heal." He looks to his hands, clasped between his knees. "Do I have cause to worry?"

Loki's breath leaves him with a soft sound. "I don't know. Perhaps. But I've always felt— Thor, it was obvious from a very young age that I did not belong."

"Obvious?" Thor looks at him now, his head swiveling upon his neck. He feels very like a shocked parrot repeating its master's words. "Not to me, it wasn't. Loki, you have been at my side my entire life. Where do you belong if not there?"

"No, Thor. Not at your side." Loki tips his head. "In your shadow. Always in the shade cast by your golden light." The way he says this, voice thick with acid and bile, makes Thor's blood go cold.  

"What do you mean?" he demands. "When have I ever tried to make you feel inferior?"

"Oh, you didn't have to try." Loki's eyes narrow to slits. "It was as natural to you as breathing. Ever since we were children. You had to be the fastest, the strongest, the most beloved!"

"I do not make apologies for striving as I have," Thor says. "A King must be the best he can be. Asgard deserves no less."

"Yes, of course. The heir to the throne." Loki groans. "That was the worst part of it. You thought that was the thing that mattered, the thing that made you great, and that everyone else around you was lesser because of it. Me most of all."

"I never thought you lesser. I thought you were happy for me! You said at my coronation that I should never doubt—"

"Don't throw my words back in my face," Loki says. "I meant them."

Thor's mouth hardens into a line. "If you love me, then why did you stop me from claiming my birthright? Mere jealousy?"

"You have no idea what it's like, being the one left behind." Loki turns to face him, his cheeks flushed with high color. Tears stand in his eyes. "Yes, I was jealous. I was _green_ with envy. Not just for your kingship, but for Asgard herself. She would have all your attentions while I—"  His lips thin, his jaw trembling. "I wouldn't even have your shadow anymore."

Thor leans back against the house for support, thunderstruck by the very idea. "I would have never abandoned you, brother," he says. "You must realize that."

Loki turns away, his face hidden from view. "Must I?" he says. "I was made to be abandoned, it seems."

Thor cannot talk to his brother when he is like this; he's known it from their youth, when he would watch Loki's blackest moods overtake him like a storm that lingers over the sea, gaining strength as it churns. In those moments there was nothing he could say or do to rip Loki from its grasp. Only time would help. Given enough of it, Loki would eventually slip back into his smirking, laughing ways.

He always did before.

Thor hangs his head. Before, things were different. And they do not have the luxury of time now.

Drastic measures. That's what is needed, Thor thinks.

"I am...sorry," he says, pulling the unfamiliar words out of his throat. It rankles; Loki is the one who should be apologizing for what he did. But Thor is the eldest and should be the wiser, so he says what needs saying. "I never knew you felt this way. I would have done things differently if— I don't know. I'm only sorry."

Loki sniffs, runs the blade of his hand beneath his nose. Still does not look at Thor. "You won't want to make this journey with me. Not after everything I've done," he says. Swallows. "And what I am."

It's as close to an apology as Thor could expect. He gazes into the distance. "You'd think so. But like I said: a family of fools." He stands, brushing his hands on his thighs. "Come. Let us find the way back home." He holds out his hand to Loki, who eyes it like it might be a trick. Thor waits. "We do this together, or not at all," he says.

Loki's face is shadowed as he stares up at Thor, the pits of his eye sockets deep pools of black. Thor reaches his hand further down until Loki, sighing, grasps it and pulls himself to his feet.

"To Arizona, then." Loki squints into the distance toward the west. "That way, is it?"

"So the map tells me. It's not so far. Come, Maria will see us off." Thor turns, Loki's hand still clasped in his.

They don't drop their hold on each other's hands until they reach the back door.

 

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"Fifty-six dollars and fifty-nine cents," Maria says as she dumps the crumpled slips of green paper and many-colored coins into Thor's outstretched hand. "It's not much, just what's leftover from my birthday checks and chore money. It'll be enough to buy you some food, though, or maybe a really crappy motel room."

"Thank you," Thor says. "I swear your generosity will be repaid as soon as I am able."

"Cool. And here's a cell phone." Maria hands the little rectangle to Loki, who turns it over to examine it. "It's the old emergency phone that Mom likes to keep charged in the house. You know, in case a serial killer shows up and we have to barricade ourselves in a bedroom."

"Is this a common occurrence on Midgard?" Loki asks. He looks uneasy.

"Depends on how you define common. Anyway, it has minutes but it doesn't have any data or anything." At their twin blank looks, Maria elaborates. "We can talk to each other but that's it. Here, I'll show you where I programmed in my number." She demonstrates poking the screen until the correct area is reached. "Think you can handle that?"

"Child, I have mastered magics beyond your ken. I've learned ancient secrets that would turn your hair white. I think I can use a primitive thing such as this," Loki says with a snort. He presses something as if to prove it and the phone goes dark with an alarmed buzz. "Oh, Hel."

"That's the power button. Oh my god, here." Maria tries to take it back.

"I've got it," Loki gripes and turns the thing back on. It chimes merrily as it lights up again.

Thor claps a hand to Loki's shoulder and looks upon him with amusement. He turns the full force of his smile to Maria. "We cannot thank you enough for your assistance. My brother and I are in your debt."

"I know." Maria points at him repeatedly, a little sword stabbing at an adversary. "Now you call me if you run into trouble, okay? There's probably a million things about Earth that you won't know about, and I can't teach it all to you in the—" She checks her bright yellow wristwatch. "—Jesus, forty minutes I have before Mom comes home."

"My brother has read the histories of every known realm," Thor assures her. "He will be well-acquainted with your ways. Do not fear; we will navigate this world like the smoothest of spies."

Loki pockets the cell phone with a wince. "Those histories were penned centuries ago. My knowledge may not be as current as we would hope. Things change quickly in a mortal realm, Thor."

Thor weighs this against the faith he has in his own abilities, and those of Loki's—especially when it comes to trickery.

"I am not concerned," he finally says, and bends to shake Maria's hand once more. "There will likely be no need to call upon you, but thank you for the offer, and all your other kindnesses."

"Yeah." The girl sighs. "Good luck. You might need it."

They leave out the back door, headed due west across the desert.

 

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Thor tracks the progress of the little black speck in the distance, the low buzz of a faraway engine marking its journey. "Is that what Maria called a car?" he asks.

"I think so." Loki takes another sip from a bottle of water from the pack. After much debate, they had agreed that they could drink a little, though Thor would have preferred to save it for a real emergency and Loki felt that being thirsty in a desert _is_ an emergency. The heavy pack jostles as Loki adjusts it on his shoulder—the toll he had agreed to pay in exchange for the water.

"We need one of those," Thor says. He watches the car speed away until it's out of sight. They must be walking in parallel to some seldom-used highway. "We could be in Arizona in an eyeblink."

Loki waggles his dark head. "True, but where are we to procure one? I doubt Maria's pocket money will be enough."

Thor thinks on this and finds the thinking difficult. A Prince of Asgard does not often need to worry about things such as payment. Even the most rare gifts from worlds away had been within Thor's grasp, before. It is not pleasant, he muses, to be in such a situation. It even occurs to him, if only for a moment, that this must be how most people feel most of the time. How awful, to live a life fraught with obstacles between you and what you desire.

Then again, Thor considers, for a Prince of Asgard it is only temporary.

Loki heaves a heavy sigh. "Walking hundreds of miles to find your hammer. What of my magics? I would like to recover those too, you know. But did Father send my seidr to Midgard in the form of some trinket for me to find? No, of course not. Why should he make things simple for me?"

There is a sound, more important than Loki's whining, that catches Thor's ear.

"Do you hear that?" Thor cocks his head into the wind. It carries to him a sound, faint and beautiful. In the distance, he sees a long, low building. It might be a mirage but for the wickers and whinnies he hears.

"What is it?" Loki demands.

"Horses," Thor says, and heads across the sand toward the sound. They're saved. It's a sign that they're on the right path. He turns to walk backward, his grin widening at Loki. "Do you think you'll be able to restrain yourself?"

Loki huffs as he follows. "That was _one time_!"

 

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"It won't work," Loki says as he urges his gray mare to canter for a few steps to catch up to Thor's roan.

"What won't work?"

"This idea you have, that you'll find Mjolnir and regain your powers instantly. It's not going to work." His eyes are chips of blue glass that turn green in the sunlight. "The inscription. Don't you understand? Father has enchanted it. You won't be able to pick up the hammer unless you're _worthy_."

Thor looks away with a little scoff. "Mjolnir was made for me. I'm the only one who can wield him and his power. Of course I'm worthy."

Loki says nothing but rides, staring straight ahead into the expanse of desert. Thor does not like his icy silence.

"You do not agree?" Thor glowers. "Do you still think me unfit for the throne?" After he'd apologized, even!

"I'm sure I don't know," Loki replies mildly.

That only incenses Thor further. "I _am_ worthy," he insists.

A maddening little shrug of one shoulder. "What is worthiness, anyway? It's never interested me, proving myself to anyone, least of all Father. Perhaps that's why I am the way I am." His voice keeps its forced lightness. "Why I am so terribly unwanted."

"Loki—" It's disturbing, this sour mood of Loki's and how quickly it appears.

"But I know one thing," Loki forges ahead without paying Thor any mind. "We are riding stolen horses like a pair of common highwaymen. Doesn't sound very worthy, even to me." He slides a look toward Thor.

Thor's hackles rise. No one in his life has ever succeeded in needling him the way Loki can. "I am not a thief," he says. "We needed horses, so I took them. It was necessary." He pats the strong neck of his roan. The horse snorts as if it agrees with him, which pleases Thor and makes him smile.

"Selfish." Loki clicks his tongue. "Fully absorbed in your own plight and not the plights of others. Do you wonder about the farmer who owns these steeds? How much do you think it will cost to replace them?"

"As if you care about some farmer's purse," Thor retorts.

"Of course I don't care. But if we want to be worthy," Loki says, "perhaps we'll need to start."

Thor thinks about this for a moment. He reaches out again surreptitiously, hoping beyond hope that Mjolnir will hear him this time and come back to his hand. Nothing.

It may be that Loki speaks true. For once.

"We will find a way to return the horses," he says. "I swear it."

Loki hums, inclining his head. "Small improvements are better than none, is that your theory?"

Father had named him vain. Cruel. Greedy. He is none of those things—or at least, not all the time—and he can prove it. Their journey is a long one. He still has time to show he is worthy. He will do whatever it takes if it means going home and claiming what is rightfully his.

"I can be kinder. More thoughtful. If there are lessons to be had here, I shall learn them." Thor gives a firm nod. He'll be the kindest, most humble, gentlest King the Nine Realms have ever known. He looks at his brother, a dark slip at his side. "You as well, Loki. I know you'll resist changing for any reason but your own whims, but if you join me in this, perhaps Father will allow us both to come back to Asgard."

Loki seems to consider this as they ride. Then he says, "So we atone for our sins on this journey and return home triumphant. A pretty thought. But will it work?"

"By the time we reach Mjolnir," Thor promises, "he will see that there is none more worthy to hold him."

"Careful." Loki gives a little laugh. Silver chimes in a faraway hall. "You sound like a jealous lover. If the goal is heroic purity, surely that counts against you."

"Shut up," Thor says, but fondly.

 

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A town shimmers into view on the horizon. First are the huge swooping signs that rise on stilts hundreds of feet in the air, monuments of glaring yellow and red and orange. After the signs come the buildings. These are joyless blocks of grey and brown surrounded by seas of hot black asphalt. Little islands unto themselves, as the town itself is an island in the sand.

Thor and Loki urge their horses onto the shoulder of the road. Cars zoom by, coming and going every so often. One sounds a horn as it passes, startling Loki's mare and making her shy away toward the desert again. Loki shushes her and strokes her sweaty neck. She calms after a moment. Thor watches this with the practiced eye of an older brother who was tasked from an early age to oversee his younger sibling's riding lessons. Even now, a thousand years hence, his fingers are ready to grab Loki's reins if trouble arises.

"We should stop at this town," Loki says once his mount has settled back into a walk beside Thor's roan. "The horses need a break from the heat."

It's more than the horses that need a break. Thor thinks of the hose in Maria's back garden and yearns for that cold stream, or anything that might cool the fire that seems to be raging under his skin. He scans the line of the town, looking for a stable or an inn that might offer a respite.

One of the blocky buildings—this one brown like sand—has signs in its windows all lit up in glowing lights. They promise ice cold beer in several varieties when just one would be enough for Thor. He dismounts in the shadow of the tavern and Loki follows. They tie the horses' reins to a dusty sign post. There's no water trough so Thor uncaps one of the precious bottles of water from the pack and pours its contents into a tin bucket that he finds leaning against the tavern wall amongst bits of dried paper and refuse. The horses drink greedily, nosing each other out of the way to take their turns.

Inside the tavern is blessedly cool and dark. A warbling Midgardian song floats from some unseen place. Though it is not yet evening, the seats at the bar are half filled with a collection of mortals, grey-haired and lined with age, their eyes on the drinks they hold on the bartop in their leathery hands. Thor and Loki receive only a few glances before the old-timers look away.

"A cheery lot," Loki murmurs.

"What're you having?" asks the barmaid. She patrols her domain slowly, resting her hand along the upturned glasses, the brass taps, the little compartments of sliced fruit that are the touchstones of her craft.

Thor asks for ale and gets it poured frothy and cold into a tall glass. Loki orders water, iced, as much as the good woman can give.

"You driving?" she asks as she fills a glass from a water spigot.

"That's right," he says smoothly.

The barmaid seems to accept Loki's word. She hands over the water glass, and Loki wanders off toward the back of the tavern, where the sound of clacking and thumping surely heralds some kind of Midgardian sport. Thor sips his drink and watches him go. Loki never could resist barroom games.

He takes a seat at the bar and realizes he's not sure how much the ale and water will cost him. He hopes it's not more than fifty-six dollars and fifty-nine cents. Asking the barmaid seems out of the question at the moment, for she lumbers to the other end of the bar and engages another patron in a mumbled conversation.

There is a little TV posted above the bottles at the end of the bar. A flickering drama sapped of color plays on the screen. Thor watches it with interest. It seems the two men in large hats and pointed boots—cowboys, they call each other—are acting out a story of rivals. They end up shooting each other in the gut with crude Midgardian weapons. Thor watches as they die in the sand inches apart. The music swells.

Thor drinks, pondering the brutality of battle here on Midgard and elsewhere in the universe.

The ale is light and crisp. It tastes of very little, but Thor is glad to have it. He sips at it carefully, not certain if he can afford another once this one is gone. It is a fairly pleasant way to while away the time, and Thor thinks there is much to be said for Midgard once one gets past the heat, the desolation, the strangeness, and the sand. He finishes his drink.

He gestures at the barmaid, then to his drained glass. "How much do I owe you?"

"Beer is five dollars."

"And the water?"

"That's free," she says.

"Thank you; your generosity does not go unnoticed." Thor counts out a few bills from the wad Maria had given him. It is custom in Asgard to add a little for the barmaid's pocket, and Thor does so now. Running out of money does not concern him as much as possibly offending the locals. And anyway, it will likely count towards his kindnesses to leave a tip.

The tavern door swings open, allowing in a slice of bright sunlight. A man with a large hat stands in the doorway painted in shadow. A cowboy, Thor thinks.

"Someone leave horses in the parking lot?" he asks.

There are a few grumbles of confusion from his fellow drinkers, but the man in the door pays them no mind. His eyes are on Thor.

"They look like the ones they keep over at the Hollingsworth place," says the man in the hat. His voice holds his accusation like a knife, blade facing outward.

Thor lifts his brows and hunches away from the door as if he could possibly hide his bulk from the man's eyes. He looks over to the back room but he doesn't see Loki. Where has he gone? It's time for them to take their leave.

He pushes himself off his stool and goes to the door, where the man in the hat is still standing, waiting for an explanation. "This Hollingsworth," Thor says to him in a low voice, "you know him well?"

"Well enough to recognize his horses," the man says. "If I call him up right now and ask him to check his paddock, is he going to have a nasty shock?"

Thor shoulders his heavy pack. He can see the roan a few yards behind the man, lipping at some weeds that grow along the edge of the pavement. The thought of walking the rest of the way to Arizona does not appeal, but neither does the idea of hurting this farmer unduly. Before, he was nameless, but now Thor has his name, knows who he knows, has perhaps had a drink where he has also sat and drank.

"I would ask a favor," he finally says to the man in the hat. "Will you see the horses safely to their home? I can make no excuses and would expect no forgiveness, only tell Hollingsworth I am sorry and that his horses are very fine."

The man in the hat squints at him. "Huh?"

Their conversation is interrupted by a sleek black car which skids into the parking lot and sounds its horn. Thor frowns as the driver's side window rolls down to reveal Loki, one hand upon the wheel.

"Get in," Loki calls. "We're leaving."

Thor stares. "Where did you get a car?"

"If we stay much longer, I'm sure the gentleman who lost it in our game of pool will tell you all the details. Shall we go?"

Indeed, Thor can hear some angry shouts in the dark recesses of the tavern. They should not linger. He claps a hand to the shoulder of the man in the hat.

"Apologies. Farewell."

"Wait, how am I supposed to—?"

But Thor is already sliding into the passenger seat, and Loki is already gunning the engine. They make their escape cleanly, leaving behind two very confused horses and a man beating his hat against his knee.

 

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Driving is an improvement over riding on horseback. For one thing, it's faster. For another, it keeps them out of the sun, protected in a bubble of glass and metal. It's not so very different from the Vanir chariots of their youth, Loki tells him. Quite simple to operate once one gets one's bearings. The car even has controls that produce chilled air and music. Thor is especially impressed with this last one, fiddling with the dial and listening to snatches of songs before Loki bats his hand away from the controls.

"You're welcome, by the way," Loki says after a few dozen miles. "These mortals. You'd think they'd be more skilled at a game they've invented themselves."

"You should not prey on gamesters so," Thor chides. "We are supposed to be proving our worthiness, not cheating mortals out of their possessions."

"Well, if you think about it in terms of the pool table," Loki flashes a sharp smile, "I am extremely worthy."

Thor gives him a sour look. Loki sighs uproariously.

"Would you prefer if I turned around and gave back my winnings? We could walk the next few hundred miles if that suits you."

"I'm only saying we should take more care in our actions," Thor says.

"I was taking care." Loki stares straight ahead out the windshield and not at Thor. "I did it for you."

Thor looks to him, eyes pained. "Loki—"

Loki clears his throat. "You and your ridiculous idea of a quest."

Thor lets out a sigh. There's no getting Loki to talk about things he doesn't wish to talk about. No convincing him not to be stone, or ice, something that cannot feel. Loki's problem has always been feeling too deeply, then attempting to excise those feelings for his own protection. Better not to say anything and let it run its course.

They drive in their comfortable cocoon, scenery whipping past. Thor watches it go and tries not to think of how little time he will now have between here and Mjolnir to prove his worth.

 

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Maria's map is not as easy to read as Thor had thought. They get lost somewhere between two highways. There is an argument about whose fault this is, but it is swiftly forgotten when, in their turnings to find the correct road, they come upon a sign. It's hand painted on wood, weathered with age. An arrow pointing left. It's Right Here, the sign promises.

"What's right here?" Thor asks.

Loki lifts his brows and turns to follow the arrow.

It is right there, only a few hundred yards down the unpaved road: a pool of clear water surrounded by rock, ringed with stunted, silver-leafed trees. Thor gets out of the car and looks at the thing. There are tire tracks in the dirt all around. Many people must come here, but at the moment, they are alone.

"It's cold," Loki reports when he dips his hand in.

"Fed by an underground spring?" Thor looks about for another sign that might tell them more, but there's nothing.

It's Right Here. Something about the hand painted sign back on the road feels prescient to Thor. What else might go unseen for lack of looking? He glances at Loki before shrugging off his thin white shirt, already damp with sweat from just the minute or two of standing in the dry heat.

Loki undresses as well, hanging his black shirt and black trousers and black socks on a ragged tree limb. His boots are lined up neatly in the shade. Brief white undergarments, Thor notices, hung up like a flag of truce. Then, without a sound, Loki plunges into the clear water.

The water hole must be deep, for it takes several seconds for him to resurface. He does so with a shocked gasp, black hair plastered to his skull, wiping water from his eyes and calling through chattering teeth.

"It's fucking freezing!"

Thor laughs, lowers himself from the rocky rim into the water with a whoop and a large splash. It is indeed very cold, bracing after the oppressive heat. Thor ducks his head below the surface and pops up sputtering. He blinks the water from his lashes and sees Loki swimming from end to end of the water hole like a seal pup.

He'd always been the more nimble swimmer between them. The summers of their childhood spent diving into lakes and rivers, their clothes spread on the mossy banks—Thor can almost see the memory overlaid atop this moment. His little brother then, brother who is not his brother now.

They swim naked in the cold water until they no longer feel its chill. When the sun goes down, blue fluorescent lights within the water begin to glow. At first Thor thinks it might just be his imagination, or some kind of tiredness burning in his eyes, but no. He watches the swirl of it around his thighs, fascinated by the life revealed there.

"It's beautiful," he says.

Loki cups the shining water in his palms and watches it trickle through his fingers. "Little creatures, I suppose. Who knows why they glow. Perhaps it's their way of speaking amongst themselves."

"Or perhaps," Thor says, swimming to Loki's side and clinging to the rock next to him, "it is some kind of Midgardian magic."

Loki scoffs, letting his last palmful of water fall back into the pool. "This isn't magic."

"It feels like it could be," Thor says softly.

The water glows below and around them. They swim for awhile more, then help each other climb out of the water hole. They towel off with their shirts, then dress, damp and tired.

Thor doesn't realize until they get back in the car that they still have no idea where they are.

"It's late," Loki says. "We should find a place to stop for the night, get our bearings in the morning."

Thor agrees with a murmur and watches the blue water through the car window until they turn and it's no longer right there.

 

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The sheets are old, worn thin as onion skin and aged to about the same color. Thor fingers a fraying edge. He bends and sniffs. The bed smells clean, at least.

"I am not sleeping in that," Loki declares.

"Do you plan to stretch out in the bath?" Thor shoots him a look before pulling his shirt up and over his head. "It's just for one night. We've had worse."

Loki crosses his arms over his chest. "When, exactly?"

"We slept on the forest floor during the hunts of our youth," Thor says. "Do you not remember? In those days we had but a thin bedroll each."

"Yes, a _clean_ bedroll. I would take that over this hovel any night," Loki says with a sniff.

"It's not a hovel. It's—" Thor looks around the motel room, hoping to spot some positive trait he can point to, but the peeling paint on the walls and the grimy corners with their gathered cobwebs give him no such thing. "It's quaint," he finally says.

Loki laughs, sharp as a blade. He moves to the other bed and pulls back its bedclothes. The state of those sheets are no better, perhaps even a little worse, flecked as they are with spots of rust.

"That one's mine, then," Loki says, pointing to the first bed.

They ready themselves for sleep. Thor strips down to his jeans while Loki washes his face at the sink set just without the washroom. The dappled mirror gives Thor a view of his brother's ablutions while he moves above the little room, clicking off lights until just the one lamp on the table between the two beds remains lit. He climbs into his own bed and waits for Loki to finish at the sink.

The inn is very quiet. Thor listens but cannot hear anyone moving on the floor above them or on either side. They might be the only patrons here tonight. Not too surprising. The innkeeper, bleary eyed in his little hut, had been drunk but not disrespectful when Thor had asked for a room. How can such a place remain in business? Or does this motel rely on the coin of travelers like themselves, lost and far from home?

Loki finally shuts off the water and makes his way to his bed. He crawls beneath the covers fully clothed save for his boots.

"You will not undress?" Thor asks. "It's so warm in here." The machine in the window churns out a modicum of cool air, but it's not nearly enough to keep the heat at bay.

"I want to keep as much of my skin from touching these sheets as possible," Loki says. He turns on his side, giving Thor nothing but a view of his back.

Thor shakes his head. "Goodnight, brother. Sleep well." He clicks off the last lamp and plunges the room into thick darkness.

The sounds of the highway thread their way into the quiet. Cars whoosh by from somewhere far off, headed to somewhere even farther. The machine in the window thrums. Loki breathes in his bed a few feet away. Thor listens to all these things and thinks of his former bed in the palace, a soft, plush thing scented with lavender and rose.

He knows it's useless to pine for what he once had, but it's difficult not to, lying in the dark atop scratchy sheets in a room that smells of tobacco. Is Loki thinking of home too? He cannot bring himself to ask. The distance between the two beds is a yawning chasm that cannot be crossed with words.

A low sob comes from the mussed nest of Loki's bed. Thor lays very still and listens. He thinks perhaps he imagined it, but then he hears it again: Loki's breath catching as he tries not to cry, or at least not be heard whilst crying.

Thor turns toward the other bed, sheets rustling, bedsprings creaking. "Loki?"

There is no answer save for a quiet intake of breath, bitten off in a tight throat. Thor sits up and props himself on one hand.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He can just make out the hazy shadow of his brother in the dark.

Loki shakes his head, his black hair shifting in inky waves over the stark white of his pillow. Thor considers leaving him be. He considers turning around and laying down to sleep. But this is his little brother, to whom he'd made promises, and he will not abandon him in this moment.

Thor gets out of bed, his bare feet hitting the worn carpet with a thud. He leans over Loki. Places a hand on his shaking shoulder.

"Loki, please." He waits. He can wait until the sun rises if he must.

Loki takes a shuddering gasp of air, his shoulder rising with it. His voice is shot through with strife when he finally speaks. "I want to go home."

Pain lances into Thor's chest. In his haste to make this journey, he'd forgotten just how _young_ his brother truly is. Normally Loki did a fine job of appearing untouched by the doubts and fears of youth, but that, Thor sees now, is an illusion. His brother is barely more than a boy, of age but only just, desperately playing at being a master of his own fate. And Thor yearns to protect him from whatever that fate may bring.

He lifts one knee onto the thin mattress, making it dip with his weight. Loki keeps talking into his pillow. The words seem unending now that the torrent has begun.

"I want things to go back to the way they were," he chokes out between sobs. "I want to be back in our world with our trees and our air and our sun. I want to see Mother. I want— I want to forget what Father said. Why can't I just forget—?"

"It's all right," Thor says. He tries to wrap Loki in an embrace, but he squirms away at Thor's touch.

"It's not all right! I'm a— a— a monster, the thing that parents warn their children about at night."

Thor grabs hold of him again and pulls him close. "No, you aren't. Not to me."

"Especially to you!" Loki twists his head around to bare his teeth at Thor. His cheeks are wet from his crying, and even in the dark, his eyes flash bright and fevered. "The mighty Thor, the sun-lit Prince, so eager to slay the Frost Giants. The things you said about them— Savages and animals, all—!"

"I was wrong," Thor says. The words are out of his mouth before he realizes the truth of them. He says them again, slowly, his arms tightening around Loki's thrashing body. "I was wrong. I wish I could go back and put it right. Your Jotun blood is not a curse, just as the Jotuns are not savages. I know you, Loki. You are as you've always been."

Loki's struggles weaken until he's still and quiet in Thor's hold. He faces forward once more, his back to Thor's chest. "And what is that?" he asks.

"My brother." Thor squeezes him tight. "You will always be my brother."

Loki nods, his hair brushing Thor's cheek. "I know," he says in a strangled voice. Why does he not sound comforted by this notion?

Thor settles in closer, one arm draped about Loki's narrow waist. Their deep breaths fill the room as their pulses return to normal. The warm memory of their shared boyhood flows through Thor as they lie there together. How many nights did he let Loki slip into his bed when they were children? Loki was a brat even then, ever unwilling to go to sleep, heedless of their nursemaid's pleas. Only Thor could succeed in getting Loki to crawl into bed—as long as it was Thor's bed, and as long as he was promised all of Thor's attention.  

"Do you remember how I would sing you to sleep when you were little?" Thor asks into the heavy velvet darkness. "You wouldn't allow anyone else to soothe you, not even Mother."  

Loki shifts against him. "I remember a high-pitched caterwauling that you passed off as singing," he says. "Is that what you're referring to?"

Thor laughs, a short huff against Loki's shoulder. He can feel Loki tense. How can he make his brother unbend? He rests his cheek against the sharp plane of his brother's back, feeling him breathe.

"I would sing for you now, but I fear you're right about my skills," he says. The little bit of humility must go a long way, for Loki relaxes slightly against him.

"Thank you for sparing my ears."

It's enough to make Thor grin. He holds Loki all the tighter. "Shall I stay here?" he asks.

"You don't have to," Loki says.

Coming from Loki, that's a fairly direct invitation to stay right where he is.

Thor does not move, and Loki does not protest, and in time, they both fall asleep to the sounds of the distant highway, the whirring air machine, and each other's breathing.

In the morning, Thor wakes alone in the grubby bed. For a moment his heart freezes as he wonders if Loki has left for good, slipping away before the sunrise to make his own journey across the desert. But then Thor hears the shower turn on in the bathroom, and he collapses back against the pillows in relief.

They get ready to leave. As far as their closeness of the previous night goes, they do not speak of it.

 

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They stand beside their car where they've parked it on the dusty shoulder of the road. Thor stands with his thumbs stuck through his belt loops, Loki with his arms crossed over his chest.

They stare up at the dead tree, the only tree they've seen for miles. It's covered in shoes. Hundreds of pairs, strung up by their laces. Pink and black and green and red, all bleached by the sun, all approaching the same faded shade of white. The leafless branches bend with the weight of them. A strange harvest.

"What does it mean?" Thor asks.

"I have no idea," Loki murmurs.

 

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The diner is the busiest place they've seen since arriving on Midgard. It's as if every human from miles around has made a plan to congregate here and nowhere else in the world. The gravel parking lot is packed from end to end with vehicles, their license plates declaring their owners from places near and far. Beside the overflowing lot is a kidney-shaped lake with a fountain spraying water into the gritty air. Flanking the lake are two cement lizards the size of the car. One is painted blue. The other is green and has a long neck. A family with two young children are arranging themselves beside the lizards, the father taking a photograph with his cell phone.

"Are we seriously eating here?" Loki asks. He slams his car door and looks at the glass-fronted diner with its cheery lights and hand-lettered signs pointing the way to the correct entrance.

"It's the only place open for miles," Thor says, but he's not certain of that. What he is certain of is the draw of the restaurant's massive plaster sign above its roof, a red steak rotating slowly in the wind.

Thor could eat a steak. Dried beef and granola bars are all well and good for the short term, but he needs a proper meal.

Inside is a maze of dining rooms and counters all mismatched and connected by narrow hallways, like some unseen hand had stitched together four or five houses to create this place. The walls are covered with wild colors and strange items. Flags and banners with silly sayings, clutter on shelves. Women in pink aprons with white paper hats perched on their heads bustle about carrying trays. They are both young and old, fat and slim, tall and stout. A few seem similar enough to make Thor think perhaps they are mother and daughter, or perhaps one is a mirage of the other's past or future. Time bends here in odd ways, after all.

"Sit wherever you can find a spot," one woman barks as she races by with her tray on her shoulder.

The only two empty seats are at one of the many counters. Thor and Loki find them after wandering through room after room after room, nearly stepping into the kitchen after a wrong turn, and finally collapsing onto their hard-won stools. Two many-paged books of plastic are dropped in front of them on the battered, greasy countertop as one of the pink-aproned women glides away without a word.

"They're rude here," Loki whispers as he picks up the book. "How can it be so well-attended when the patrons are treated like this?"

"It must be part of the charm." Thor opens his own book. "Or else the food is very good."

Loki makes a face at the woman sitting on his other side. She's wolfing down some sort of sandwich, its contents escaping as she eats to patter back onto her chipped plate.

"I doubt the latter very much," Loki says.

Thor makes a dismissive noise and reads over the diner's offerings. For all the differences between their worlds, this Midgardian establishment is close enough to resembling any Aesir tavern. Some of the foods are exotic and strange to Thor, but others are familiar. Steak and eggs, for example, are two of Thor's favorites and here they are together on one platter. However, there is their dwindling money to consider; the motel room had made a dent in their reserves. He looks at the prices listed. Perhaps he could convince Loki to split it.

Loki, meanwhile, seems entranced by something being served to a girl at the very end of the counter: a towering ice-milk, it looks like, crowned with lashes of sweet cream and flowing chocolate and garishly red cherries.

"I think I'll have one of those," Loki says. His eyes are as round as throwing discs.

Thor clears his throat. "Did you know water costs nothing here?"

"Then I'll have one of those and some water."

Thor flips through the pages of the menu until he finds the section for sweets. He frowns at the cost. No steak after all. He'll just have to make due with something else.

A waitress, one of the older ones, stations herself in front of him behind the counter. She holds a pad of paper in one hand, a pencil in the other.

"You boys know what you want?"

"What she's having," Loki says, and points to the smiling girl at the end of the row who's digging into her ice-milk with a spoon.

The waitress makes a scribble on her pad. Her eyes flick up to Thor in question.

"Ah, one of these, please." He points to something that costs very little.

"That's it?" she asks. Her eyes take in the shape of him, the bulk of his shoulders under the white shirt, like she doesn't believe him.

"That's it," Thor says.

"And some water, if you would," Loki supplies helpfully.

The woman—the tag on her breast says Lois—gives him an unimpressed look and takes their plastic menus before slouching away.   

"What did you order?" Loki asks.

"A cottage cheese, whatever that may be."

Loki lifts his brows as if wondering himself, but he soon loses interest in the topic, instead picking up the little paper placemat before him and reading what is printed there. From what Thor can see, it seems to be a collection of facts about some other era when the diner was apparently founded. The present is what concerns Thor now, though, so he leaves his brother to his reading and spins on his stool to take stock of their surroundings.

There are mothers and fathers herding their broods to and from tables. Elders bent over their bowls of stew. Young couples in love sharing bites of food, forks outstretched toward hungry mouths. There are lone travelers taking up entire booths alone, all facing the same direction to avoid looking at anything but their meal. So much teeming mortal life crammed into such a small space, shot through with the scent of fried things. Close your eyes and it could be home, Thor thinks.

There is a door nearby that must serve as an exit, for Thor observes as several people collect their hats and bags and leave through it. Outside the glass door stands a man. He is of indeterminate age, dressed in grubby blue clothes, ratty boots. His unshaved face is lined with dust. He says something to each person that leaves, his hand open and empty. Few people speak in return, and no one gives him anything.

Thor watches the beggar for a long time.

Lois returns to plunk two sweating glasses of ice water in front of them. The bumpy cups make thick rings of condensation on the countertop.

"Some water," she says.

Thor looks at the water, then at the door. To Lois, he says, "That man outside…."

"Oh, him?" She nods toward the glass. "Been there all day. Probably he'll be there tomorrow. Happens sometimes. They're harmless, mostly. Nothing to worry about."

But Thor does worry. How many mortals are out in this desert, he wonders. How many are lost and alone? Someone should do something.

Thor realizes he, actually, is someone.

He turns back to the waitress. "Is it too late to change my mind? I've decided I don't want a cottage cheese."

She takes out her paper pad, flipping along its pages. "Nah, honey, what else you want?"

"Nothing," Thor says. He takes the last of their money from his pocket and counts out enough for Loki's ice-milk. He adds a dollar for the waitress. He pushes the little pile of coins toward her. "I want nothing. Does this cover our bill?"

Her eyes, lined in electric blue, widen a bit. "Sure, but—"

He does not wait to hear her protest. He does not wait for Loki's either. He levers himself off the stool and out the door.  It is so hot outside compared to the coolness inside, it feels like stepping into an oven. The man in blue waits, hand out, eyes down. How useless Thor feels, placing his last few folded bills and coins into that hand.

"Will this help?" he asks.

The man of indeterminate age looks at the money, then up at Thor. He does not seem surprised, just quiet, which makes Thor wonder if he's done something wrong. But then the man lifts his hand, the one that's not clutching the money, and touches Thor's arm. There is something familiar in the stranger's eyes. A chill of recognition runs through Thor at the sight.

"Did my Father send you?" Thor asks. "Is this a test?"

"Ain't too religious myself," says the man, "but thanks." He pats Thor's arm and walks away, putting the money in his shirt pocket as he goes.

Thor watches him until he turns a corner around some parked cars and disappears from sight. Then he walks on shaky legs back into the diner and reclaims his seat next to Loki, who's twisted himself around to witness the proceedings.

"Why in Hel did you do that?" Loki hisses as he sits. "That was all we had! How are we supposed to pay for things now?"

It's a good question. "I don't know," Thor says, stroking a hand over his beard. "It was something I had to do, I think."

A frosty ice-milk appears on the counter before them, placed there slowly and carefully by a frowning Lois. "You really gave that guy all your money?" she asks.

Thor nods. "I did."

Lois does not seem satisfied with this answer. She plants her fists on her hips. "But when you say that was all you had, you mean it was all the cash you had on you, right? If you need an ATM or something—"

"No, that was everything. We have no money left." Thor purses his lips and thinks. "Perhaps I was too rash. But what's done is done." And what's been done feels like the right thing. He looks at Loki's ice-milk. "Eat, Loki. Before it melts."

"Feels foolish now to have spent our last coin on this," Loki mutters. He picks up the spoon and takes a bite. Then, grudgingly, he offers the spoon to Thor.

The gesture touches Thor more than he can say. The mark of his brother's lips is still printed upon the metal in streaks of white.

"I can get you another," says the waitress but Thor is already eating a spoonful of the ice-milk with its sweet cream and chocolate sauce.

"It's good," he says, more to Loki than to Lois. And it is. Deliciously cold and thick, sugary the way Loki has always preferred his treats. He passes the spoon back.

"I should hope so. It will have to last us for awhile," Loki drawls. "Perhaps until Father welcomes us back home."

"Home, huh?" The waitress crosses her arms over her chest and looks them over anew. "Where you boys from?"

"Erm." Thor looks to Loki, who's no help at all, mouth stuffed full with another bite. He looks around instead, his eyes landing on a tattered map that's been taped to the wall, bristling with pins. He seeks out a place that is largely unmarked. "Have you ever been to Australia?"

"No."

"We're from Australia," Thor says.

"And what's up with your dad?" she asks. "He kick you out?"

"Oh, yes." Loki licks his spoon and plucks the ruby red cherry from the toppling peak of his ice-milk. He lowers it into his mouth by the stem and rips it free between his teeth. "Father is not very pleased with us at the moment," he says as he chews.

Lois leans up against the counter, her hard face softening. "Family can be tough. Even when you get older and you think you've got it all figured out, they throw you a curveball."

Thor nods in agreement. "But soon we will make amends and all will be as it should. We just need to reach Arizona."

The waitress doesn't seem convinced. "Tell you what," Lois sighs. "You seem like nice boys. It's not my business, but if it were me? I'd stick with the family I got and tell the rest to fuck off." She indicates Loki with a tip of her chin, then spins around to fiddle with something in a case behind the counter. Within moments, she slaps a sandwich in front of Thor on a little white plate.

"You eat chicken salad?" she asks.

"I would," Thor says.

"Then eat. On the house."

Thor stares at the food which has appeared by some sort of magic. Is this the secret of kindness, he wonders, causing a loss then bringing a gain? His mouth waters for the meal, but before he eats, he reaches across the counter and takes Lois by the hand before she can bustle away.

"Good Lady," he says as he cradles her hand in both of his, "this means more to me—to us—than you could know. You have my thanks."   

"Come on, don't get all sappy," she says, though her eyes are red. "Here, might as well take this too." She digs her free hand into her pink apron and holds out a handful of bills to Thor.

"I couldn't accept that," Thor says.

"It's not much, but it'll help get you to Arizona."

"I couldn't," Thor repeats.

"Maybe we could," Loki suggests, licking his spoon.

"Take it," Lois insists. "Really. You need it more than me, sounds like."

Loki pleads with his large, liquid eyes, and Thor, seeing them, relents. He takes the money—less than he'd given to the begging man, more than nothing—and holds it reverently. His eyes close in a silent prayer of thanks before he folds it away in his pocket.

"You have a great heart, sweet Lois, and a tender soul. Thank you."

Lois smiles and squeezes his hands, then leaves to take care of her other patrons.

"How in the world did you manage that?" Loki asks. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you possessed the power to control mortal minds."

Thor does not bother replying to his brother, too busy eating his chicken salad sandwich.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

The road is straight and flat.

The sun is hours from setting and throws long, silky shadows across the ground behind every small rock and shrub.

There is a bird wheeling overheard, not a vulture, but an eagle, brown and gold and calling across the valley.

It is hot. The wind whips into the car through the open driver's side window and throws Thor's hair into a wild dance about his face. He sweats lightly, but it's not unpleasant. They are not making much headway into Arizona; too many wrong turns, too many lost hours, but Thor is not worried. They'll reach the end eventually.

Loki has taken to playing Midgardian music as he drives. Thor watches him in profile as he taps his fingers along the curve of the steering wheel, mouthing the words to a song they've listened to a few times. Every time it ends, Loki plays it again from the beginning.

That's all right by Thor. It's not a bad song.

Loki's sleek black hair has been pulled into a short tail to keep it out of his eyes. Thor can't remember the last time he's seen his brother with his hair any way but loose. He might be staring. Loki turns and raises an eyebrow in question, his mouth still moving to the words of the song.

"I was just thinking," Thor shouts above the wind, the music, the eagle, "I'm glad it's you I'm here with."

Loki's smile is almost imperceptibly small. He turns up the music and drives on.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

"Maria," Thor says into the phone when she at last answers. "Our car has stopped. Do you know what's happened to it?"

A few hundred yards away, Loki paces on the side of the road, kicking at rocks and empty bottles. The car sits where they pulled over after the engine sputtered and died out. A few other cars pass by, a few large trucks, but no one stops. Unconscionable, Thor thinks, to ignore a fellow traveler's plight. He resolves to stop himself the next time they see someone in distress.

"When did you get a car?" Maria asks from her end of the line.

Thor waggles his head, phone pressed to his ear. "A long story. Do you know how we might fix it?"

"Uh, okay. So it just stopped? Did it make any weird noises before it died?"

Thor describes the putt-putt-putt of the dying vehicle, and how he had urged Loki to guide them off the road where it might be safe.

Maria hums. "How much gas is in it?"

"Gas?" Thor asks.

"Yeah. A car needs it to go. You have to buy more once you use up a tank."

"That's not a very good design, is it?" Thor huffs. This would never have happened to a Vanir chariot.

"Just check the fuel gauge," Maria grouses, and Thor does. It turns out the child is correct. Empty.

"Well?" Loki calls to him from where he's sulking in the distance, kicking at more rocks in the desert sand.

"I've figured it out!" Thor calls back. Then, into the phone, he asks Maria, "How can we get more fuel brought to us?"

"You gotta get it yourself, Your Highness. Walk to the nearest town and find a gas station."

"Walk?" Thor looks down the road the way they've come. He can't remember how far away the last brightly colored sign he'd seen was, but it was surely many miles. He looks ahead. It's just as empty. "But it's so far."

"Better get started, then. Sun's going down soon," Maria says. "Is it at least a cool car? Not some kind of mini-van or whatever?"

Thor glares at the useless vehicle. "It was a fine machine while it worked. Now I'm less fond of it."

Maria laughs, then tells Thor how he might purchase a gas can once he reaches a station, and how to go about filling it. Thor listens and thanks the girl before hanging up. Loki finally returns from his sojourn into the sands, temper at last cooled. He strolls up with a ready look in his eye.

"So?" he asks. "Is it fixed?"

Thor grimaces.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

They walk together because, as much as Loki abhors the idea of walking to the nearest town in this horrendous heat, he hates the idea of being left alone with the car even more. Each footstep on the sun-hot roadway is an accusation aimed at Thor's heart. Every look that Loki throws his way is a dagger.

"Oh, stop it," Thor finally says. "You didn't consider the fuel either."

"I'd gotten us a car in the first place. My portion of the work was done," Loki snaps.

"Fine. I'll take the blame if it makes you feel any better."

"It does, actually."

Silence for a mile. And the next. The sun dips down toward dusk.

Thor steps over the splattered remains of some desert animal. "Once we reach a town, we'll find a room for the night," he says. "It's too dangerous to walk along here in pitch dark."

"We won't have the money for a room. Fuel isn't cheap, if the complaints of the mortals I've heard are true," Loki says.

Thor thinks on this. "I'll figure something out," he promises.

"Perhaps you can charm another waitress." Loki looks toward a mountain that rises in the distance, reaching upward into the midnight blue of the sky. Two crows as large as dogs land on a faded rock nearby. Their caws echo in the emptiness.

Thor watches them closely and wonders if they have been sent by Odin, or if they are merely normal, everyday crows flying and calling as crows do.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Thor stands at the fuel pump with his newly bought red can, waiting patiently for it to fill. Loki seems uninterested in the process and wanders away. Thor keeps his eye on the electric red numbers of the pump which rise and rise and rise some more. He thinks of Lois's money in his pocket and wonders where he and Loki might sleep tonight.

He pays the station attendant for the fuel and leaves the little shop to look around the parking lot, but Loki is nowhere to be found. Thor peers around each car and fuel pump, finding nothing.

"Oh, are you done already?" Loki's voice splits the quiet evening air.

Thor turns to see Loki coming from behind the back of the shop, walking at an easy pace. The red gas can hits the side of Thor's thigh as he moves. His eyes narrow. "Where were you?"

"Solving our little cash problem." He takes a roll of money from his back pocket to show Thor. "We've enough to see us through at least a few more days, I think."

Thor stares at the money, at Loki's pleased expression, at the spot behind the station where the garbage cans sit. His mind is an angry red whirl. Thoughts of roadside taverns and the things that a man could procure behind them, the sorts of depraved acts that might be paid for in the shadows, plague him like a fever. A stranger's hands do not belong in Loki's hair. A stranger's spend has no place in that pale throat.

"What did you do?" he demands. "How did you get that?"

Loki seems confused by Thor's ire. "What does it matter? Wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed tonight than on the street?"

Thor stalks toward him. The metal handle of the can bites into his hand and his grip goes tight. "Tell me what you've done," he grits out between his teeth.

"Nothing," Loki says. His face is so pale, his eyes, so wide. "I won it fairly. No cheats, no sleight of hand. It's not nearly enough money to ruin a man—why are you so cross with me?"

Thor stops, his lips parted. "You won it? In a game?"

"Yes." Loki watches him carefully. His brow is furrowed. "I had no money to join in the dice throwing at first, so I wagered Maria's phone." He produces it from his other pocket. Thor, stupidly and reflexively, pats his own empty pocket where the phone should have been. "I'm sorry," Loki says, quiet and still muddled, "but I thought you'd be pleased with the winnings." He hands the phone over to Thor.

The air leaves Thor's lungs all at once. His limbs tremble with wasted energy. "I thought you'd put yourself in some sort of danger," he whispers. "I was worried for you."

"Worried?" Loki's bright eyes fall to Thor's hand where it clutches the can of fuel, then look back to where he'd been. He lifts his brows as the truth of Thor's thoughts becomes clear to him. "You really think I'd get my knees dirty for some lonely traveler behind a gas station?"

Thor shrugs, miserable. Loki laughs.

"If I did, I would earn far more than this, brother," Loki says, waving the bills in the air before stuffing them back in his pocket. "Come on. Let's find a place to sleep."

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Another motel, very like the last. Perhaps they are going in circles. Magic might have trapped them in an infinite loop of small towns, rundown motels, gas stations, sand. At least, that's how it feels.

Thor asks the innkeeper for one room for one night. "With one bed," he says, shifting on his feet. "Whatever is the least expensive."

He can feel Loki standing just behind him. The weight of his eyes on the back of his head.

"I can give you two beds," the innkeeper says. She's very old and moves slowly behind her high, scarred counter. On the wall behind her is a wooden clock fashioned like a little house, wreathed in pink plastic flowers. The hour is late.

"We don't have a lot of money," Thor says. "We can share. We're brothers." Why is he offering the woman all this useless information?

"It's fine. Quiet tonight. You can have it for the price of a single." She hands over a card with little square holes punched into it. She smiles. She's being kind, Thor realizes, so he accepts the card though his heart twinges.

Loki figures out how to use the card to open the room.

Thor takes the bed closest to the door. Watches from a thin pillow as Loki dithers at the sink, then at the window, snapping the blinds open and closed until they're shut tight. As tight as they will go.

Loki glances over to him as he unbuttons his sweat- and dust-streaked shirt. He doesn't ask, and Thor doesn't offer. Doesn't need to. The shirt gets draped over the empty second bed. He's scooting over to one side of the dipped canoe of the mattress before Loki even takes a step.

Loki curls against Thor and gives a small, quiet sigh as Thor's fingers thread their way through his hair. Thor pulls the sheets up over his shoulders. Lets him curl closer.

Cars passing on the highway. A snatch of a song played loud, then silenced. The creak of the old innkeeper's footsteps a few thin walls away.

"Are you asleep?" Thor asks after some time has passed.

Loki doesn't answer, but his heart is racing. Thor can feel it pressed to his ribs, banging away. A tax collector at the door, seeking the owner of the estate.

It is a long set of hours before Thor can rightly say he sleeps.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Thor wakes alone. The space next to him on the bed is empty, as is the bathroom, as is the rest of the room. The red gas can sits by the door, waiting for the long walk back to the car. He pulls on his shirt—pungent, in need of a wash—and opens the door. His breath returns then. Loki stands there on the little open air walkway that connects the rooms in lieu of a hall. He's leaning his elbows against the metal railing, looking back at Thor over his shoulder. All dressed in black.

"Good morning," he says in a voice as flat as the highway.

Thor wants to speak of the previous night. The night prior as well. All the nights that will come.

He leans against the railing alongside his brother, heart calming from its race. "Loki—" he begins.

Loki doesn't let him get far. "There's breakfast downstairs if you're hungry. It's terrible but you'd probably like the sausage cakes." He shrugs expansively.

Thor does not care for the paltry breakfast. He cares about what he and Loki have been doing, sharing a bed in the dark of night, wrapped close together. "We should talk of this," he says.

Loki makes a face like he doesn't agree, but some commotion down on the ground distracts them both.

A man is shouting. He has a dog leashed to a rope which he holds in one hand. It's a medium sized mutt, ears folded back in the face of its owner's screams. The man with the dog advances on two women, young, faces creased with fear. They move across the parking lot below, the women walking backwards, the man pursuing them with his loud shouts. The things he calls them do not bear repeating.

Thor is running down the metal stairwell without a second thought.

"Thor!" Loki calls, and follows. His boots drum out a different sound on the rungs; Thor's bare feet, scorched pink, slap as they go.

"Stop!" Thor bellows at the man. "Leave the ladies be."

The man, the women, the dog all look to Thor in bewilderment. Who is this stranger, their eyes seem to say in varying degrees of disbelief.

"This doesn't have anything to do with you," the man snarls. "Mind your own business."

"I will not." Thor places himself between the man and the two women. "Whatever your quarrel, you need not act like this."

The man hurls insults at Thor. His words do not matter. Thor turns to the women, who are holding each other in the shadow of the motel.

"Are you all right?" he asks but never gets an answer.

The man with the dog runs at him, pushing and grappling with his chest. He is not so big compared to Thor. Large for his race, perhaps, but no match for Thor's bulk.

"Do not test me," he warns the man, and gently, gently, but firmly pushes him back several paces.

The man goes red in the face. The dog whimpers.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" he screams.

Thor squares his shoulders. "I'm not afraid of you," he says.

"You should be," says the man. He pulls a gun from the small of his back and aims it at Thor's chest.

There are gasps from the women, from Loki. As if all the air has been sucked from the world including their lungs. The threat of violence is so sudden that it takes a moment for Thor to recognize it for what it is. He looks at the weapon. It changes nothing. The thought makes him still inside. A wave of calm washes over him.

"I am not afraid of you," he says again.

There is a moment that is quiet and hangs heavy there in the parking lot, blistering hot in the morning sun. The desert itself holds its breath. The man with the dog seems incredulous at Thor's certainty. The gun wavers in his hand.

"Hey!" someone shouts.

It's like the spell is broken. Everyone in the little tableau turns to see some new player, the woman who sold Thor the room for the night. She holds a phone to her ear, a scowl across her face, standing in the doorway of the motel office.

The man with the dog shrugs, like this is just another slight inconvenience in his normal everyday life. He shoves the gun into his waistband, takes his dog, and disappears in the maze of cars.

Thor turns to the two women. "Are you unharmed?"

They do not answer him. Their eyes are wide and fearful. Thor thinks that perhaps they have good reason to be wary of any man, including himself. They clutch at each other and flee in the opposite direction. The woman with the phone returns inside the motel office, shaking her head. The parking lot is empty now save for Thor and Loki.

A bizarre and terrible thing, ending as swiftly as it had begun.

Loki's eyes drift shut for a moment. When they open again, they are hard as steel.

"Are you mad?" he growls. He stalks closer. Thor imagines he might even push at him like the man with the dog did, but he only gets close enough to hiss in Thor's face. "Why did you do that? You absolute imbecile!"

"He was threatening those girls," Thor says. "I had to do something."

"Do you know what a gun is?" Loki snaps. "Do you understand what he could have done to you with a flick of one finger? You're not a god here, Thor. You could have been killed!" Spittle collects at the corner of his lips, thin with rage, white and bloodless.

"I know," Thor says, "but I had to. No one else was helping those women."

"And what of me?" His fists are balled at his sides. "What would become of me if you—?" He stops. His eyes are full of terror at this and something else. "You never _think_."

"Loki—" Thor recognizes that look. It's how he's sure he looked when Loki had returned from his dice game. Thor tries to hold him by the shoulders, but he wrenches away.

"Don't. We're wasting time here. Let's just go," he says, and climbs the metal stairs to their room without a glance at Thor.

They return the card with the holes punched in it and, red can in hand, walk back down the highway in silence.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

The tires drift over the white line. The whole car shakes over the rumble strip for the count of two.

"Loki." Thor touches his arm.

Loki shakes himself like a sleepwalker rousing from his ramblings, red eyes blinking at the road as he quickly rights the car.

"You're falling asleep," Thor says. "Let me drive."

They've made poor progress today. The late start, getting lost several times, snapping at each other over the smallest missteps. Now it's night. There is no lamplight this far away from the city, and there are no other cars. It's so dark, Thor can imagine them to be the only living things in a sea of blackness, hurtling down the highway through the night.

"I'm fine," Loki says. His voice is scratchy. Thor stares at him until he glances over to share the look. A thready sigh and Loki is pulling over on the side of the road. He slows to a stop, kills the engine.

They pop open their doors simultaneously. Night sounds pour into the quiet of the stopped car: insects singing, wind rustling through the scrubby grasses. Thor's boots crunch on the gravel, and so do Loki's. They both cross in front of the car, switching sides.

Before they pass each other completely, Thor spins and grabs for Loki's wrist. "Wait," he says.

"What—?" Loki's question is cut off by Thor's embrace. He slings one arm over Loki's shoulder and the other around his waist and brings him in to fit against his chest.

He can hear Loki breathe and not breathe, this close.

They stand like that for a moment in the dark space between the car's headlights. No one else is there to see them. Thor could do anything in this moment and there would be no witness but Loki, and the moon, and the desert.

"Come on." He steps back, lets go of his brother. He slips behind the wheel. His hand shakes as he reaches for the key.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

Another motel, even dingier than the last. Only one bed this time. Half the light bulbs in the room don't work, so it's dark, which is just as well. Darkness is a comforting place for secrets.

Thor slips between the sheets shirtless. He can hear Loki puttering around in the tiny bathroom. After listening for a moment, Thor shucks off his jeans and tosses them to the floor, leaving only the plain white boxer shorts. If Loki asks, he'll complain about the heat.

He closes his eyes so he doesn't see when Loki comes out of the bathroom. Flicks off the few lights. Climbs into bed beside Thor.

Thor reaches for him. Brings him to rest against his chest. His hand feels only Loki's skin, soft and warm. No shirt. No trousers. Nothing but smallclothes. Thor ceases to breathe. Loki has come to bed nearly bare as well.

"It's so hot in here," Loki says before he can ask.

Thor thinks for a moment. They have often been nude in each other's company, but this near-nakedness feels strange. He takes his hand from Loki's hip and moves to distance himself from the curve of his spine.

"No—" Loki grabs at his hand. Replaces it on the cliff of his hipbone. "It's not so hot that we can't sleep like this. If you want."

The darkness hides Thor's look of wonder. His hand slots back into place. His beloved little brother, bold enough to press their bare legs together under the sheets, too skittish to speak his true desires aloud.

Someone must act first. It seems inevitable, every step they've taken bringing them here to this room and this bed, this strange place. Thor wonders if one small thing had been different, would they always find their way back together again? He'd like to think they would.

The edge of his thumb traces the hard line of Loki's hip. Loki is so taut against him, Thor thinks he may snap like an overtaxed bowstring. Up to this moment, everything that came before could be excused as a companionable touch, a familiar comfort. But now Thor's hand dips lower, under the band of Loki's smallclothes, stroking the soft skin hidden there.

Thor's mouth falls open at the sensation, panting breath into the small, hot space against Loki's neck. Loki makes a sound like relief, a quiet outpouring of air. His spine lengthens as he rocks back into Thor's body.

Are they doing this? Thor wonders if he might be dreaming. It doesn't seem real, the way Loki is so silent. He should be saying something—a cutting insult or some clever witticism. But they are both without words, unwilling to be the first to speak.

Thor's hand moves low on Loki's belly. He can feel the heat pooled there. The velvet brush of Loki's cockhead as it curves upward in the confines of his briefs. Still, neither of them says a word.

Thor puts his open mouth right up against the shape of Loki's ear, breath coming hot and fast. His own prick is hard in his boxer shorts. His hips shift forward just a touch, just enough so that Loki might feel him through the thin fabric, pressing into the curve of his ass.

The sharp intake of Loki's breath is like the crack of a whip in the dark. It emboldens Thor enough to move his other arm, the one caught under Loki's neck, so that he can pluck at one hard nipple on Loki's chest. The sounds he makes at that—it's enough to break Thor's silence at the risk of destroying this moment suspended in a dust mote.  

"How long?" he whispers into Loki's ear.

"As long as you'd like," Loki gasps out.

"No, I meant—" Thor's lips touch the sweaty skin of Loki's nape. Not a kiss, really, but nearly. "How long have you wanted me this way?"

"Oh…." Loki tangles their ankles together, toes curling against Thor's instep. He sounds tired. "Always. As long as I can remember." He's very careful not to turn around, not to let Thor see his face. Thor, who knows him so well, can hear the shame under the lightness of his voice. He cannot fathom what this must have done to Loki, who has kept this secret buried in his chest his whole life.

When Thor doesn't speak for a long moment, Loki asks, "And you?"

Thor cups a palm to Loki's thickening cock. Loki makes a strangled sound in the still air. "These last few days, traveling with you— Loki, I saw things I'd never noticed before."

Loki gulps for breath helplessly, his cock dribbling in Thor's hand. "Now that you know we are not brothers, you mean."

"No," Thor says fiercely. "That is not what I mean." He sinks his teeth into the meat of Loki's shoulder. His free hand flies to Loki's mouth to stifle his cry.

"I thought you would be disgusted," Loki murmurs against his hand. "I thought—"

Thor stuffs two fingers into that wet mouth. "You can stop thinking now."

They move against each other in the dark. Thor tears away their last remaining clothing, fueled by the need to feel every inch of his skin against every bit of Loki's. The room, already warm, soon burns with their combined body heat. Back to chest is not enough, so Thor rolls Loki to face him, takes in the wrecked look in his eyes, brushes the wild dark hair from his brow.

He hauls Loki atop him, and Loki cries out, sitting astride Thor's hips, their cocks brought together by Thor in one big hand. He shushes Loki even as he grinds up against him.

"The walls are thin," he hisses. "Someone will hear you."

"Then shut me up," Loki says.

Thor grasps him by the hair and drags his head down, guiding his mouth to Thor's chest, where his pebbled nipples receive Loki's attentions. Loki's mouth is fiendishly pleased, nuzzling at the swell of Thor's chest, lavishing him with tongue and teeth. Thor stifles a groan, turning his head to his own shoulder. How good it feels to at last be out from under the pall that had settled over them.

He takes hold of Loki's chin and tips his head to look at him. Loki's eyes are blown in the dark, his lips pink and wet. He is so beautiful. Thor leans in to taste him.

"Wait," Loki gasps. He sits up, his face a pale beacon in the dark. His eyes are wide as he stares down. "Thor, if we do this," he says, "we'll never be worthy." He swallows and places his hands on Thor's chest, one on each wide plane. "A sin like this—we might never be able to return home."

Thor looks up at him, touches his warm cheek. Watches the way Loki turns into his palm, a puff of air against his hand. And he knows his answer.

"So be it," he says, and surges upward to kiss Loki as hard as he can.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

He has no oil to prepare Loki to receive him, so Thor does not take him no matter how desperately Loki begs.

"For now, is this not enough?" he says. He flips them so that Loki is spread beneath him, held down by his weight. They rut like frenzied youths.

"There might not be a later," Loki says, stumbling over his words in his pleasure.

"I swear to you there will." Thor kisses him again. His cock stabs between Loki's legs, seeking out a haven.

Loki clenches his thighs tight together and gives him one. He eyes squeeze shut. "What did I do?" he moans. "Did I trick you into this? Enchant you without realizing I had my magics again? How can you be doing this with me?"

"You're thinking again." Thor smiles in the dark. "And talking too much." He puts his hand across Loki's mouth to silence him. Watches his eyes grow wide above the line of his fingers. Little whimpers huff into his palm. He holds them there, thursting.

The bed squeaks a counterpoint to the obscene squelch of their sweaty skin, the steady beat of Thor's stones slapping against Loki's thighs. How he longs to fill him. Soon. Tomorrow. Time is less and less a worry.

His other hand fists Loki's bobbing prick. Finds a rhythm that makes Loki's eyes go misty and roll upward. Faster, faster, as quick and brutal as he can.

"Finish for me, brother," he whispers.

Loki jerks and shivers beneath Thor. He wants to hear the sounds of Loki's completion, so he uncovers Loki's panting mouth, thrusting harder in the tight space between his legs.

"Brother, please," Loki chokes out in a broken half-prayer. Thor answers, kissing him with teeth, hand a blur. Loki cries against his lips, spills into Thor's hand, onto his own belly, flushed and perfect.

Thor coats his inner thighs with seed, roaring in the heavy dark. He doesn't care who might hear, not anymore.

Their bodies are truly mortal, wrung out from just this one peak. Thor gathers Loki in his arms, the sticky, sweaty mess of him, and holds him close in their shared warmth. Drifting off to sleep, Thor brushes a kiss in that damp black hair and murmurs his love into Loki's ear.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

They return the key to the innkeeper. Rucksack tossed into the backseat. Loki at the wheel, Thor beside him. They slam the car doors shut and sit there on the asphalt, quiet in the morning sun.

"What do we do now?" Loki looks ahead out the windshield. "Do we keep going?"

"Perhaps," Thor says. "Or perhaps we just drive. Pick a direction, brother, and let's explore it."

For one moment, Loki looks like he might argue. There would be much to argue against. Their money, for one thing, is finite. For another, they must eat and wear clothes and do all the other things mortals must do. It would be the height of foolishness to ignore all these realities.

And yet….

Loki puts the key in the ignition. The engine turns over; chilled air spills out of the car's vents; music starts playing.

"There is something to the north," Loki says. "I read about it once. A huge scar in the earth, as deep as a city. Perhaps we should take a look while we're here."

"That sounds good," Thor says, and settles back into his seat.

 

ᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞᛞ

 

This world is beautiful, Thor thinks as he watches the sky turn into a riot of purples and golds. At his side, spread out on a blanket on the sand, Loki sleeps deeply, his skin bare and pink. Even in the depths of his dream, he seeks out Thor, nuzzling with his nose against Thor's hand where it lays by his face. Thor strokes his fingers through his hair, and Loki settles once more.

This world is beautiful, Thor thinks, and also strange. A carrion bird wheels in the distance, soon joined by a dozen or more of its brethren. A black dance winging through the purple sky.

Thor lays back on the blanket in the shade of the car and closes his eyes for just a moment. It's peaceful here in the desert. He thinks of the horses in the parking lot, the cowboys in their deathly dramas, the beggar outside the diner, the waitress with her charity. The man with the dog who became the man with the gun. The kindness of innkeepers. The hubris of gamblers. Children who watch the stars. Signs and wonders along a highway, magic in the water. He finds he loves it, this world with its mortals, and his brother who is not his brother (who is his brother) most of all.

What is a princehood, a throne, compared to that? What a small, fleeting thing he had been chasing. He'd wasted centuries dreaming of a crown when he could have had this. He feels lucky to be here now. To be content. He drapes one arm over Loki's waist and dozes.

When he opens his eyes sometime later, the sky has turned a deep midnight blue with the faintest of pinks about its edges. In one arm he still holds Loki, the whipcord shape of him close and warm. Thor tries to lift his free hand to rub at his sleep-filled eyes, but he realizes he holds something clasped in it.

He looks down and sees he is holding Mjolnir.

It's only a dream, he thinks. But he lifts the familiar heft and feels the crackle of lightning along his arm. Somewhere in the distant mountains, the sound of thunder calls. Rain coming to the desert where there should be no rain.

Loki shifts at his side, making small sounds of distress in his sleep.

Thor shushes him and kisses the top of his head. Once Loki calms, Thor slips away with his hammer grasped tight, walking a few feet to contemplate the thing. He stands naked in the sands with Mjolnir clasped to his chest. He could call out to the Watcher, request an audience with their Father. Show him the proof of his worth. Beg to be allowed to come home.

He glances back at Loki, slumbering on the blanket, one leg crooked into the air.

Ah, but it's so simple now that he sees. There is no home where the two of them cannot sleep pressed together, skin speaking to skin, inextricably entwined. He does not need to be a great hero; it is enough to be a good mortal.

With a whispered apology to Mjolnir, Thor leaves him in a crevasse of a boulder. If he ever needs him, he will call. He knows now the hammer will answer. What do the Midgardians think about his disappearance? What will Loki say when he hears the hammer is missing from Arizona?

It matters not. This journey is not yet finished. He still wants to see that scar in the earth.

He wakes Loki with a kiss to his slack mouth. "Come, brother," he says, "it's time we left."

Loki stretches luxuriously. "Is it?" His eyes open, blue like the coldest water, like the living glow of magic. "I feel like I've slept a thousand years and could sleep a thousand more."

Thor helps him to his feet, kissing his soft cheek. "You can sleep while I drive," he says, and guides him to the car, where the love they have for each other waits patiently, an island in the desert.

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> Please go look at the [amazing art for this fic by asgardianroses](https://assgardianroses.tumblr.com/post/179757982894/its-thorkibigbang-bang-time-i-had-the-luck)!
> 
> And a huge thank you to [RC](https://rabidchild67.tumblr.com) for the beta!


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